The Unkindest Cut
by everybetty
Summary: Caution! The Pegasus Galaxy contains many dangers. Like football, giant space ostriches and sharp edges. Herein be Shep whumping. Gen. COMPLETE. First fic so concrit, feedback appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

Written for the sgaflashfic challenge on LJ.

Spoilers for Conversion

Summary: Caution! The Pegasus Galaxy contains many dangers. Like football, giant space ostriches and sharp edges.

Genre: H/C and humor, gen. Shep!Whump

Joint authors: kristen999 and everybetty

This is a first full-fledged SGA fic for both of us, only having posted drabbles previously in this fandom. Con-crit and feedback would be greatly appreciated as we take the plunge in this new direction.

* * *

"So explain to me again, why a scientist is needed to visit a planet that has no science?" Rodney huffed as he fought with the sleeve of his grey uniform jacket.

"Sounds like someone woke up on the wrong side of the laptop this morning," was the reply from the pilot seat of the jumper.

Rodney paused in his struggle. "Laptop?"

John's hand rose to mime a tic-tac-toe grid imprint on his own cheek. "You have 'key face' again."

"Oh for…" Rodney's fingers rubbed furiously at his cheek, leaving a hot red, mottled mark over the clear impression of typewriter keys branded into his skin.

"Jeez, McKay, didn't you see it when you shaved this morning?"

"I didn't"

"How'd you miss it?"

"No, I mean I didn't shave this morning. I don't have to shave every morning; it's one of the benefits of being fair."

"Fair? As many words as I could think of to describe you, Rodney, fair is not one of them."

"What?" Rodney's blue eyes grew wide as he framed his face with outstretched jazz hands. "This is fair." An index finger poked alarmingly close to his eye as he gestured at it. "See? Blue eyes. Light hair. Fair!"

He dropped the brandished pointer slowly as the violence and absurdity of his actions seemed to dawn on him. "You're just jealous, Mr. Ten AM Shadow," he retorted.

Now it was John's turn to raise a hand to rub thoughtfully at his jaw. As his thumb rasped over the roughness of his freshly shaven skin he decided he didn't want to continue the argument anymore.

"A scientist is needed in case we FIND any science, McKay. Besides, our sensors picked up heat signatures of over 500 degrees."

"Oh, good. They've discovered fire. At least we got THAT out of the way. Ah, Carson. So you'll be joining us on this little visit back to the Neolithic?"

"Hello, Rodney," Carson said with a sigh as he dropped his medical bag onto the floor next to the passenger bench. "And I'm told they've advanced a bit beyond rocks and spears."

"Yes, I heard about the fire. Quite the development that," Rodney muttered as he turned back around to poke at some of the buttons in front of him. A sidelong glare from the pilot stilled his hands.

"Thanks for letting me tag along, Colonel. I want to check out the local flora- especially for fruits. I think folks are getting a wee bit tired of the canned stuff between Daedalus runs."

"Yes, and don't think I haven't noticed all that's left is mandarin oranges, Carson. You know, maybe _I_ would like some fruit on occasion. Would it be too much to ask for something of the non-citrus variety?" Rodney piped up once again, not bothering to turn his head to catch Carson rolling his eyes. "Probably come down with scurvy," he mumbled.

"Och, Rodney, there's still the peaches left you like. And I could always give you vitamin C shots if you're worried?"

Rodney squirmed in his seat, then made a point of poking furiously at the buttons again.

John turned to smile broadly, almost evilly at Carson, then reached out a hand to still the physicist's annoying fiddling. His finger raked across a slight burr in the metal of the instrument panel and he yanked it back with a small hiss, instantly popping the traumatized digit into his mouth.

"Oh, now _that's_ sanitary!" Rodney snorted.

"Wha-?" John said around the finger he continued to suck on. He pulled it out to show the teeniest amount of blood that could be shed and still be seen.

"What I don't understand," John continued, brandishing the moistened finger in front of Rodney's face, "is how it happened? Didn't your team work on this panel last?"

"If you hadn't crashed the damn thing it wouldn't have needed the work!" Rodney spluttered.

"It -- it was a _rough landing_- I don't crash. AND it was because the time you fixed it BEFORE the -- rough landing-- _someone_ crossed some of the wiring and I was flying with bad instruments, McKay!"

"But that time we wouldn't have been fixing it if you hadn't-"

"-Oh, for the love of …" Carson got up to stand between the two bickering men. "Colonel, let's see the finger."

"Doc, it's a cut. A teeny tiny nothing cut. Look - already stopped bleeding, see?"

"Yes, it would appear saliva cures all ills, Carson. A shade better than the usual rattle shaking you medical people do, too," Rodney said, folding his arms smugly.

"Yes, I'll remember to try that next time you come wailin' to me with your next gunshot wound, Rodney." The rest of the words turned into Scots Gaelic and sounded completely foreign yet somehow obscene.

"Teyla. Ronon. Nice of you two to join us," John said with a big grin as the last two members of his team entered the jumper, Ronon hauling the door shut behind him.

"Yes, Colonel. I'm sorry for the delay," Teyla said with lowered eyes.

"Looks like I'm not the only one who overslept."

"Actually, Dr. McKay, Ronon and I have been sparring since dawn."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Teyla insisted we shower before we boarded," the Satedan grunted as he took a seat next to the Athosian.

"Well… thank you for that, Teyla," John said smoothly, his hands moving in familiar patterns over the panel in front of him. "Okay, kids. Hands and feet inside the ride at all times. Let's go see if we can find Rodney some science."

* * *

There was no science to be found. There was a small village; thatch-roofed huts clustered around a large dirt clearing. The natives and the homes and the pack animals were all covered in a layer of tan dust that quickly caked on the skins of the team members. Rodney went through every wetnap in his pockets before finally conceding defeat.

The Mallomarans were intrigued by the appearance of five strangers in their midst but their stargate had allowed other traders through in the past so after greetings were exchanged and the men of the village puffed up their chests and flexed plow-strengthened bulging biceps while they sized up the team, they retired to the home of the woman who had first greeted them on their arrival.

Tiarna was a stout woman; blonde curly hair piled high on her head, loose strands plastered to her florid face. She had a babe in her arms and a toddler hiding behind her skirts who would pop out only long enough to insert a thumb into his mouth while he stared with huge brown eyes at the team before quickly ducking back.

"Ah, look, Colonel. It seems you and he have something in common," Rodney said, gesturing his head towards the child.

"Colonel, if you don't mind, I'd like to start my search now," Carson broke in before the bantering of earlier could re-start.

"Sure, Doc. Why don't you take Teyla and Ronon with you? Just in case."

"I'd appreciate the company, Colonel." He turned to address their hostess, waggling fingers at the face that had popped back out from behind her skirts. "Lass, would you be knowing of any place where fruits grow? Wild, or orchards if you have them. I'm sure we could work something out in trade…"

"Of course, doctor," Tiarna replied as she set the baby down in a blanket covered woven basket. "We have both. The orchards are mostly our effort to control the harvest of the _yupa. _It grows all over the hills but it is easier to pick before the rains come with the trees closer to the village."

"Wonderful!" Carson exclaimed with a wide grin. "I'd love to check out the domesticated and wild variants - if you don't mind, of course."

"No," she said with an answering smile. "The gods provide more than we can eat in a thousand lifetimes. They are free for your taking."

With the go ahead the doctor and the two warriors set off with baskets given to them in search of - "_yes, Rodney"_- non-citrus fruits.

John and Rodney took seats at the rough-hewn table in the small hut and made small talk with Tiarna while she bustled in front of a stove, shoving wood into the oven to feed the fire.

The boy, Japeth, took immediately to Rodney in the way that small kids and pets do to those who want nothing to do with them. When the physicist shoved the small boy back not too ungently a second time John darted a quick look at the oblivious mother, then poked a sharp elbow into Rodney's side with a hiss and a forced smile. "_Play nice, Rodney_."

Tiarna turned from the stove with a cast-iron skillet filled with what appeared to be scrambled eggs mixed with a variety of unfamiliar vegetables. "It's not much, sirs, but it fills the stomach. I'd be obliged if you joined us for the midday meal."

Rodney passed his gaze over the eggs, his stomach letting out a loud growl as the smell of a pleasant spice hit his nose.

Tiarna chuckled as she set the skillet down and grabbed up some clay thrown plates. "I'll take that as a yes."

She set out five plates, then paused and pulled out two more, laying them out around the table. She stepped to the open door and, leaning out, let loose a ululating cry that had John and Rodney raising eyebrows.

She returned without comment to the table and began ladling out portions, the skillet never seeming to empty, no matter how much she apportioned out.

Seconds later a man appeared. His clothing was rough; hand-sewn britches with leather straps criss-crossed over his broad chest. He leaned in to give Tiarna a peck on the cheek, then sat down without a word to the guests to begin shoveling eggs into his mouth.

Next arrived a teenage boy, a smaller version of the man who was obviously his father. Following behind him were a teenage girl in long skirts like her mother. The two teens stared with naked curiosity at John and Rodney, but otherwise were quiet but for the scraping of their utensils on the clay plates.

Tiarna settled herself into the last chair, the toddler on her knee, the babe in her arms, and she alternated prodding the smallest boy to eat and offering teensy bites of the egg concoction to the baby.

John looked at Rodney. Rodney looked at John. The two men shrugged and picked up their forks and dug in. The odd group ate in silence, the father finishing his first and, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, got up, ruffled the toddler's hair and pointed a meaty finger at the plate in front of the child, kissed the baby and then his wife, and left without a single word having been uttered.

"Man gives Ronon a run for the title of strong silent type," Rodney muttered through a mouth stuffed with eggs.

The teens finished up their meals soon after, leaving dirty plates behind to kiss their mother as they passed by her and left in the same quiet manner as their dad.

Tiarna blushed lightly. "The rains are coming," she offered as explanation. "We have much preparation before then."

Rodney just continued forking in his food, taking a brief pause to shove his food to the side of his mouth and mumble something about them being the best eggs he'd ever eaten.

It was John's turn to blush in embarrassment for his friend's unusual lack of table manners. "He got up too late for breakfast, Tiarna. He's not normally… this bad."

She nodded understandingly, then got up to start cleaning the mess left behind.

* * *

The afternoon passed hot and dry. John rolled up his sleeves and helped Tiarna with her chores, hauling water in from a well for her to wash the dishes and scrub everything down, then drying alongside her in companionable silence.

Rodney tried, in his own way, offering to baby-sit while the heavy work needed to be done. He offered Japeth a peanut butter power bar, then regaled the tot with the nutritional value packed inside and a lecture on the value of vacuum sealing. The boy just sat nibbling on the bar, chocolate smeared from ear to ear, but seemed entranced by the sound of the scientist's voice. The baby got her own bar but she contented herself with gumming the foil-wrapped package.

John glanced at his watch, noting several hours had passed since the doc and his party had left. Lifting a hand to his ear he stepped out of the hut and tapped his radio.

"Carson?"

"Here, Colonel," came the familiar Scottish burr a few seconds later. "We ran into a wee problem. Just getting it sorted out now."

"What kind of problem, Doc?" John asked, tensing for word of Wraith or an accident.

"One of the native workers fell from a tree. He dislocated his shoulder and I had to pop it back inta place for him. Just finished putting him in a sling- he should be right as rain in a few weeks."

John relaxed slightly, rolling his head until his neck popped in relief. "Finish up and head on back, okay, doc? And don't go climbing any trees yourself, okay?"

He heard a light chuckle. "No worries there, Colonel. Besides, Ronon seems quite comfortable in the higher branches."

"Don't be telling me these things, Doc. Please. Just leave me blissfully ignorant, alright?"

"As you wish, Colonel. We'll be in shortly. Beckett out."

The doc was good to his word, the trio having been joined by a tall thin blonde Mallomaran in a navy blue field med sling and the two teen children of Tiarna and her taciturn husband who, John realized, still had no name.

Tiarna dropped the broom she'd been using to fight her futile battle against the dust and rushed out to fuss over the native man, leading him into the hut and goading him into a seat. Her fingers ran over the silky fabric of the sling and she asked the man if he was in pain. He appeared to consider for a minute then gave an incredulous shake of his head.

She whirled around to cast grateful eyes at Carson, pulling him into a quick embrace that clearly left the Scot bemused by her affection.

"Och, lass, it's just immobilization and a little Tylenol. Haven't found anyone react badly to it so far so I felt it was safe to give it to him. I'll leave some more pills for him with instructions, of course, that he can take while he's recuperatin'."

"Well, thank you, Doctor. This is Jonlar, my little brother. I sent him along to keep the children out of trouble," she said as she turned kindly, scolding eyes on the man who had the good sense to stay mute. _Or maybe that was just the way of all the Mallomaran men,_ John thought.

Running a hand over her forehead, she pushed aside a few loose tendrils from where they'd matted in sweat and gazed off at the sun lowering towards the horizon. "It's about evening meal time - the rest of the harvesters should be coming in soon." She dropped her hand and grinned broadly at the Lanteans. "I think we have cause for a celebration, in honor of our guests and the help and care you've shown.

Gloriel? I think it's time," she said, turning to her daughter. The teenager's face crumpled into a heart-rending frown but she nodded and headed around the back of the hut.

"Um, Tiarna? Time for what?" John inquired with a not so subtle look at the receding form of the girl, taking in her dropped shoulders and slow gait.

"Well, Colonel Sheppard, we don't just harvest the _yupa_ fruits. Gloriel understands."

"Oookay," he said slowly. "Is it something I can help with? Make it easier, whatever _it_ is?"

"She's sent to slaughter our _nawk_. One of our domesticated fowl."

"Like a chicken?" he asked, picturing the first thing that came to mind. "Never mind," he said with a shake of his head at Tiarna's oblivious look. "I, uh. That can be dirty work, I suppose, but if has to be done. Tell Gloriel I'll do it."

"Oh, Colonel, I couldn't ask that of you …besides… I'm not sure…"

She cocked her head and appraised him. "It can be tough, catching a _nawk_. It would be best if Gloriel does it."

John puffed up his chest and put on the gamest face he had. "Ma'am. I've wrangled with Wraith and flown a jumper into the sun. If that little wisp of a girl can do it, I think I can handle it."

Tiarna smiled and only said, "I don't know of this chick-en, but I'm sure a great warrior such as yourself will be well able to handle yourself. It's in the back."

Chicken was about as far from what the _nawk_ was as a kitten was from a saber-toothed tiger. Ostrich on steroids maybe? The _nawk_ stood at least as tall as John, its tiny beady-eye punctuated head overwhelmed by a heavy beak with a wicked-looking hook at the end. Dull grey feathers morphed into scales where it met the long neck and strong legs ending in more of the same horny points on its three- toed feet.

The origin of its name was quickly revealed as John entered the fenced-in enclosure. It wheeled its head around to fix one cold, dark eye on him and then opened its beak to let out a loud _NAWK!_

"Jeez," John muttered to himself. "Almost wish it was a wraith instead." He eyed up his quarry, taking a few steps further into the defacto 'ring'. The bird bobbed its head up and down and backed up the same number of steps.

"Here, birdie, birdie," he soothed, then tried whistling at it like he would have his old dog, Gus. "Nice birdie. C'mon, don't make me look like an asshole in front of these nice folks. Just come and be dinner like a good little meal."

His fingers brushed against the butt of his 9mm, but he could feel the eyes of the family and his team watching him. _Good one, John! Make them pick lead outa their celebratory meal!_

C'mon …it was still just a bird. And by the size of that skull, it probably had a brain the size of a grape.

His quarry had backed up and was against the fence so John made his move. He dug his boots into the loose, dusty dirt and sprang forward, launching himself at the thing, head ducked down to avoid the cruel beak, aiming to take it out at the legs.

Small, almost vestigial wings sprung out from its side as it _NAWK_ed at him and fluttered several inches into the air, kicking out with its taloned claws. John rolled away barely in time as it thudded back to the ground to scamper away, its head whipping wildly on its snakelike neck.

"Okay, Not fair!" John spat dirt from his mouth and wiped sweat out his eyes. "It can fly?!"

"Hey, Sheppard. You need a hand?" He heard Ronon's laconic voice float over from where the tall man leaned against the fence, obviously enjoying the spectacle.

"Colonel Sheppard, perhaps your friend is right. The _nawk_ is not a creature to be tangled with if you are unfamiliar with it."

"No offense, Tiarna, but it's personal now," he uttered in his best John McClane voice. "This bird is goin' down!"

He picked himself up painfully off the ground and beat the dust from his BDUs like a cowboy in a Western. "You and me, Rodan. C'mon!" and he gave _bring it on _fingers at the bird as it glared back at him.

The bird _NAWK_ed again, then scratched its claws in the dirt and charged. John yelled out an obscenity and threw himself up onto the fence, barely pulling his legs up before the beak had slashed him.

He leapt down and wrapped his arms around the bird, his fingers grasping at the scaly neck, sliding off the dust covered feathers and he slid right off to _thud_ to the ground. The _nawk_, spooked by its temporary rider, took off the few inches it could manage again, stirring up a choking cloud of grit.

John coughed as it caught in his throat and his eyes began to water but he had presence of mind to roll away again, just in time to see a clawed foot impact the ground where his head was seconds before.

From the sidelines he heard Carson begin to make worried clucking noises. "I'm fine!" he shouted while maintaining his focus on his opponent. "Embarrassed, but fine!"

"Perhaps you should listen to Tiarna."

_Damn! Even Teyla was convinced he couldn't do this!_

"I've GOT this!" he yelled as he rose to his feet again.

"Yeah, you've got this, Sheppard," he heard Rodney snort. "Who exactly are you doing this for? There aren't any swooning spacewomen around for you to impress, Colonel. Not that you'd be impressing them anyways…"

"Thanks for the support, Rodney!"

He turned to look angrily at his supposed friend and took his eyes off the super-ostrich long enough for it to sense its opening in its little reptilian brain.

It didn't issue a warning _NAWK_! this time- it took three long strides over and knocked him right off his feet, planting one heavy foot in the middle of his vest-covered chest.

John let out an _ooof! _and grabbed at the clawed foot to flip it back off of him but the thing weighed at least two hundred pounds.

The tiny head lowered menacingly, the evil beak inches from his face.

And then it spat on him.

A big, nasty, stinky loogie, right on his cheek.

"Oh, now that's just GROSS!" he heard Rodney huff out.

The bird cocked its head and made a snorty noise as if working up some more salivary ammo and John braced for it, squeezing his eyes shut, almost wishing it would bite him instead when he heard an odd noise from a few feet away.

The _nawk_ immediately lifted away from him and wandered over to the sound where the teenage girl sat perched on the fence making a clicking noise with her tongue on the roof of her mouth. She reached up to pull down some fresh, still green branches down from the tree to pluck a hard-looking fruit free which she held out to the creature.

The bird walked over to take the fruit in its evil beak, cracking the shell with a bone crunching sound. It spat the outer shell out and swallowed with obvious gusto, then laid its tiny head on Gloriel's shoulder as she wrapped her arms around the bird in a hug, tears falling from her eyes to streak in the tan dust that covered her cheeks.

John sat up and dug his fingers into the spittle to claw it off his cheek, flinging the clingy mucus away distastefully.

He stood and dusted himself off one last time and walked over stiffly to join his team. "Well, that went well, I think."

"Yeah, you showed it who was boss, Sheppard."

"Shut up, Rodney," he replied testily. "And before you ask, Doc, I'm fine. Just a wounded pride is all. And the boo-boo on my finger hurts. I think I got space ostrich spit in it."

"Eww. Can't imagine it's any less sanitary than your earlier salivary application, Colonel," Rodney snarked.

"So, Tiarna," John said as he cast another glance at the crying girl and her bizarre pet. "Those eggs were really good. Think maybe our feast could just be more of 'em? I think it only fair that he earn a reprieve for uh, besting me in battle."

"Actually, Colonel, it's a she. And she provides those eggs you love. It would have been a hardship to lose her."

"A she, huh? Man, I'm NEVER gonna live this down."


	2. Chapter 2

His neck was stiff, muscles spasms and little knots cramping his shoulders. John's legs felt like rubber after his morning run earlier and changing into his uniform was more of a chore than he cared to admit. It must have been that ostrich on steroid's revenge. It would have the last laugh and he would never live down the wild escapade of chasing that stupid bird around. He'd double-checked that Rodney's camera wasn't present for the festivities, eliminating any possible use in blackmail later on. That 'pet' had reminded him of some of the meanest camels he'd had the displeasure of dealing with in Afghanistan. Whatever happened to man's best friend? Four paws, a friendly wagging tail, and a real personality. Though with their luck, the Pegasus's version of Fido would probably want to eat them, too.

He felt drained, not from going _mano a mano _with a Wraith or fighting for survival on a hostile planet. No, he was achy from his adventure with Big Bird. Figured.

His entire morning had been spent shackled to his desk. He couldn't help but grin; he had a desk and that still, to this day, amazed him. Paperwork was a fact of command and this month's evaluations were due for several key military personnel. His choices affected promotions, with the possibility of some new sets of stripes and pay raises for three Marines and two airmen. He shook his head at the irony of it all. With the burden of a city's protection resting on his shoulders and his judgment calls influencing entire populations, every once in a while he missed the simplicity of being a pilot.

The reports lay untouched on his desk while he spent his time reading over a proposal he'd typed up for Zelenka suggesting a few modifications to the jumpers that could increase propulsion. While his mathematical skills were second to none- well, maybe Rodney- the physics equations bored him enough that he threatened to fall asleep at his computer.

He pushed aside the paperwork with a sigh and stood from his desk. There's always time for certain endeavors, he thought to himself with a smile, gripping the football tucked against his side. Ronon had lost to him in poker last week and acquiesced to being shown how useful military strategy could be hidden in the wonders of football.

* * *

Today was just a little one on one; explain the mechanics, demonstrate some techniques. It'd be fun. He stripped off his jacket, vest, side arm, and knife, placing them in a pile on a bench in the gym.

Ronon seemed genuinely unenthusiastic, eying the leather object bouncing in his hand. "Some of your greatest warriors spend all their time trying to carry that thing over a field?"

John tossed the ball at the Satedan. "It combines the best in physical activity and outthinking your opponent," he boasted eagerly.

Ronon held the object in between larger hands. "What happens if I pop it?"

John frowned. "You get negative points."

The runner growled, digging his fingers into the pigskin. "Tell me more about the red zone; sounds like the area I'd like to play in."

John pushed aside any remaining lethargy from earlier. "That's music to my ears."

Throwing long passes and instructing the finer points of protecting the ball while running against a guy who was bigger and faster was more of a workout than he'd expected. John wiped at his forehead once again, perspiration soaking his shirt and beads running down his neck. He bobbed and weaved, the finesse in his footwork a little sloppy, but it mattered little when a hulking mass blocked every attempt he made at getting by.

If he were to get together a real game, with full teams, he'd be hard-pressed to decide whether Ronon would be better on offense, with his ability to break through any defensive line and score, or if his skills would be better suited as an impenetrable wall, keeping any runners from getting past him. Maybe he could make up a rule where the Satedan could switch positions.

Right now though, he needed to suggest to Ronon that full on tackling him was not what happened during drills.

He saw stars after another hit and lay crumpled on the ground trying to recall what day it was when Ronon's face loomed over his. "I don't get it."

Still trying to get air into his lungs foremost on his mind, he raised a hand for his teammate to help lift his sorry ass off the ground. Bent at the knees, still huffing for oxygen, he peered up. "What?"

"Why don't you just take out the quarterback?"

His body was shaky after the topple and he fought the whiny urge to lie back on the ground. He'd never have this chance again to sell Ronon on the game. "That's against the rules."

Ronon regarded him for a moment. "Dumb rule - it's the best way to win."

"The quarterback is the captain. He's the guy making all the decisions so he's the most protected."

"If he's the leader he should accept being the biggest target."

"Well technically he is... but..." John could see the other man's confusion. "It's about teamwork, achieving the same goal."

"And you wear protective gear?"

He pulled up the hem of his black t-shirt to mop at his soggy face. "Yeah."

"Yet it's a contact sport."

He sighed, "Yes, but..."

"And you're not allowed to punch anyone," the Satedan continued, arching an eyebrow.

"Um, no."

"Seems like there's too many rules." Ronon walked past him unimpressed.

"It's about mounting the best offense versus the best defense- overcoming stronger opposition. Think of it like chess but you get to hit people." John knew he was losing the battle.

Ronon was at the other end of the room, not buying his failing sales pitch. The Satedan threw the football at John and then began his charge.

John ran back, judging the distance of the powerful throw. He kept his eye on the speeding object but in his peripheral vision he could see his friend take off at full steam. No way was he going to be crushed again; he angled his leap and caught the ball, almost dropping it. Cursing that he'd bobbled it, John waited for the runner to reach him.

Ronon was a blur of muscle and mass, the air filling with the roar of his charge.

John waited... Waited...waited, then, as arms and shoulders barreled within inches, he pushed off then twirled around, levering against the weight of the other man. He bounced away, then shifted sharp to his left and Ronon was unable to halt his forward momentum, crashing down to the ground hard as John took off a like a bolt across the small gym.

He huffed, legs pumping, creating a wind that cooled off his overheated cheeks. John crossed the distance to the imaginary goal line, the floor echoing with loud clomping behind him, but Ronon was too far away and the pilot whooped loudly as he reached the end zone and slammed the ball to the ground in triumph.

Filled with excitement that he'd outwitted the big guy, he soon realized he'd forgotten to tell Ronon about another rule in this sport. Something about not tackling the receiver after he'd scored. Good thing the runner was tired when he plowed into his commander. John found himself once again sprawled out on the floor.

"Hmmm, I can see some merit in this game," he heard Ronon say in the distance. Or was that over him?

John hoped he was still in one piece to resume his duties when the new Marine contingent arrived.

* * *

He was going to complain about the air conditioning in this gym. It was one thing to create harsh conditions in survival training; it was another to make people work out in a hot, stuffy metal box. That's how it felt, as he pulled his sticky black tee from his body when no one was looking.

He was patrolling the room as the new soldiers practiced fighting techniques. Ronon was roaming as well, correcting placement of hands, swings or punches. These men were all highly trained, but learning new combat skills from the races they'd encountered ensured the chances for survival later. Sheppard had done his _colonel _speech; this wasn't orientation, but he addressed the reasons and objectives of these drills to Atlantis' newest team members.

Major Lorne took over the exercises once he was done addressing the troops. John wanted to observe, seeking out candidates for certain missions, assessing skill levels. He finished his latest circle and retreated to one corner of the room. He'd never admit it, but the stuffiness of the facility was getting to him. He wasn't usually one to feel fatigue- oh, maybe after several weeks of non-stop threat levels with bad sleeping and eating habits, but he couldn't recall ever feeling this run down before.

_Yeah, playing tackle dummy for Ronon was a bright idea, John. _

"This batch seems more prepared." Ronon's voice boomed near his shoulder, shaking him out of his inner musings.

"Yeah, they've been in the SG program for some time- they boast the most off-world experience so far."

"There's a group over there that would be good for one of your football teams."

John looked over at a unit of large, bulky Marines, not a single one of them under 6' 4" in height, and, by their bulging biceps and tree trunk legs, seemed the type to bench press small cars instead of weights. "They must've been raised on spinach."

John didn't bother trying to explain when Ronon stared; the Satedan was slowly getting used to his Earth expressions and pop culture references but still could never get them all. And explaining them took all the fun out of it.

Ronon's gaze took in the whole room, landing on some of the other soldiers and then looked back at the colonel with a calculating expression. _"_I'd like to teach a new defensive move to this group. Have the smaller guys matched with those big guys."

John raised an eyebrow. "Like David and Goliath? Never mind. What?"

"Something I think you need to practice." There was no mistaking the implication in that voice.

"This has nothing to do with chasing that annoying bird yesterday, does it?" Damn that mission was going to haunt him.

Ronon crossed two large arms over his chest, "No, it has to do with the ambush from last week."

John winced inwardly, thinking back to another simple visit gone badly. "Not every planet is going to have good security; we did well considering we were outnumbered by those raiders and the fact they carried automatic weapons."

"You used an unwise strategy and found yourself without a tactical advantage." Ronon began playing with his knife, unsheathing it and flipping it in a repetitive motion.

John tried to recall exactly what Ronon was driving at. The firefight had been intense, the team caught in a crossfire. The more he concentrated, the faster his mind filled with images of his friends pinned down, Rodney's shouting, bullets splintering the tree in front of him. John shook his head, making the room waver a little. Now he was feeling a little dizzy, damn it. Better not be coming down with another cold.

"Hand to hand is not your _football_. Tackling him blindly was a mistake," Ronon scolded.

John's face flushed just a little. "My P-90 was jammed and my 9 mil was empty. If I recall, that Neanderthal was about to shoot you."

"So you..."

"Tackled him," John finished, squirming a little under the scrutiny.

Their attackers were huge, each one about seven feet tall. He'd done the only thing he could think of to save his teammate. He'd just headed right for the giant guy's mid section. The raider missed Ronon who was too busy protecting one flank, but the giant easily knocked John to the ground like he was swatting a fly. He'd taken quite the pounding trying to get the caveman off his feet - an attempt that ultimately proved useless no matter what John threw at him.

Ronon eyed his commander, choosing his words carefully. "There's always going to be someone bigger than you, Sheppard. When faced with a stronger opponent there are ways of knocking one out without taking such a large..…"

"Ass kicking," John finished for him then sighed. "Alright. So teach all of us."

* * *

Sheppard wasn't upset; he knew this was Ronon's way of showing concern and what better way to get to know his newest Marines than by fighting side by side with them. He went over to the mats to explain to Lorne what they were going to do. The Marines seemed eager to impress their military commander, but as he readied himself to go toe to toe with his new men, he wished his body didn't feel like it was two steps behind.

He was going to find out who had the thermostat set so high and make them pull KP duty for a week.

The Air Force had taught him the means for self-defense, including special training for missions not found in normal service records. Various methods had proven useful on this end of the galaxy. John wasn't the best-trained expert, but he recognized certain types of martial arts. Ronon's _move _was reminiscent of the best of many different forms.

His much bigger, heavier, and he guessed meaner sparring partner at the moment was Arnold Jr. The blond, buzzed-cut Marine with a lantern jaw and massive tree trunk for a body introduced himself as something else but it didn't matter because all John imagined hearing was a thick Austrian accent introducing himself as _Ahnuld_. The giant's job was to try to squash him like a bug- and John's simple task was to avoid such a pummeling and strike around the pelvic area.

Short of aiming at the groin, which was an option, John practiced swerving, with a jab to the area where the thigh and hip connected. Every once in a while he switched things up and, like the fancy move he used on Ronon in their one on one game, twirled around and shoved his knee to the small of the back of his opponent. Either way he was ducking massive fists and grappling with a guy who could snap his neck like a pencil. With each new Marine he faced, the more exhausted he felt.

He was panting hard and all the buckets he was sweating did little to cool him down. They were not using the type of force needed in a real fight, but John felt like a punching bag nonetheless. The first couple of guys gave him a run for his money, each getting a few shots in. Arnold Jr. either disliked taking orders from an Air Force colonel, or really, really wanted to impress him.

John blocked the swing of a left hand with his wrist, his right knee lifting to impact with a sensitive point at the Marine's side when he lost his balance. He wavered and what was supposed to be merely a good smack to his head ended up knocking him down hard.

"Are you all right, sir?" Arnold Jr's face swam into view.

If the room would stop spinning maybe, but John pushed himself onto his elbows, trying to clear the cobwebs. "Yeah, fine."

The Marine looked nervous when John didn't get to his feet right away. Truth be told, he felt shaky, but held out his hand to be helped up. He wiped at his brow, realizing how parched his throat felt suddenly. He swallowed but his tongue felt like sandpaper and his mouth lacked sufficient saliva. The severe lack of moisture irritated his throat, which turned into a loud coughing fit instead, earning a visit from Lorne.

"Colonel, are you all right?" The younger man glared at the brutish looking Marine.

Now Arnold Jr's face went from a chiseled slate of neutrality to worried.

"No biggie, Major. Our newest big guy here just got one up on me." To prove that he was indeed no worse for wear he gave a cocky grin. "Wanna try that again, Sergeant?"

The jarhead looked from the Major back to John who was circling now. The blue-eyed giant grinned. "Yes, sir!"

* * *

John wondered if Sergeant Slaughter ate metal parts with those teeth. It felt like he'd gone twelve rounds with Mike Tyson. The fatigue sucked all the energy from him, but John remained stubbornly on his feet, earning some nice new bruises. He could feel the eyes of Ronon and Lorne watching him from the same corner from earlier. This time during the bout he ignored how crappy he felt and used that annoyance against the burly sergeant.

This was supposed to be test of will, even in training. Chopping down a tree required determination, endurance and patience. John simply outlasted the larger man, using quick movements and ignoring sore muscles and a sweltering room. When Ronon's _enough_ echoed in the gym, there was a collective sigh of relief.

Lorne stood next to him and a set of faces awaited his command. After a few positive comments John issued a _dismissed._

The major turned to his CO. "I think that went well."

"Yes, it did," he agreed, offering a tired smile.

The commanding officer of Atlantis went to the mats with the fresh contingent and he knew that type of camaraderie in the trenches went a long way towards earning respect. He'd pay a price the next day, but it wasn't anything a hot shower and sleeping for more than a few hours wouldn't cure.

Ronon stayed behind like a shadow as John gathered his stuff. He didn't have the energy to slip his vest or jacket back on, though he fumbled with his belt and side arm. Ronon walked over to him and without a word handed him a water bottle that he gulped down almost too fast. He wiped a hand through his damp hair, and rubbed at his eyes.

"What?" he asked grumpily.

"Nothing."

It was more like something and he looked at his teammate with suspicion. "Did I pass muster?"

Ronon quirked an eyebrow.

"Guess you'd rather I used a slingshot."

"I've read that legend and I think it's disrespectful to compare today to that battle."

John grinned despite himself and began walking, because bed sounded like heaven and anything else could wait. Ronon walked behind him. "You were...slower than usual."

"That's what I get playing football before taking on a contingent of Marines."

One thing that he liked about the big guy was that he was the furthest from a mother hen of any of his teammates. The truth was, yes, he was feeling sick and no, he didn't want to go see Beckett, thank you very much. The past month or so, if someone had so much as the sniffles, he caught it. If there was a slight cold going around it turned into the flu with him. The retrovirus incident had occurred only a couple months ago and the lingering effects from it had left his immune system in a shambles. The past couple of weeks he had been completely healthy except for the run-in with the Neanderthal responsible for the new set of drills. He was sick of Carson's office and, yeah, he was a little touchy about any mention of him being ill.

They were at the hall near his quarters and John patted the Satedan on the shoulder. "See you tomorrow."

Ronon gave him a persistent look, but said nothing.

"Here," and the runner handed him back the football hidden in the layers of his coat.

"Keep it for next time."

Dark eyes studied the leather. "Can I be quarterback?"

John gave him his stern face. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because you'll always be on my team and there's only one quarterback," John said with a smirk as he raised his eyebrows.

Ronon grunted and headed towards whatever he did after sparring. Probably more with Teyla. John turned his lights to dim and collapsed on his bed, his boots still laced. The shower was too far away to bother with, but after noticing how ripe he was, he got to his feet and swayed.

_Good thing Ronon's not a tattletale_, he thought to himself. Rodney on the other hand... He shook his head and grabbed at the wall when another wave of dizziness washed over him.

"I'm not getting sick," he muttered. He was going to add 'again', but stripped away his filthy clothes and went under the scorching spray.

The water beat down at his sore back and he leaned his head against the tile stall wearily. He wasn't hungry and the idea of skipping dinner and just catching more shut eye held a great deal of appeal. He had nothing on the docket that couldn't wait. Tomorrow was a nice easy day. At least the beginning part. Quick stop back to Mallomara and then a stupid meeting with Kavanagh and his lackeys.

And he still had those reviews to do.

After toweling off and slipping on his comfiest, most worn out sweats and a tee he lowered himself stiffly into his chair and clicked on the laptop file tagged 'Evaluations.'

After a few minutes of staring at his computer, he shut the lid down in disgust, got up and walked over to fall into bed, barely taking the time to think the lights completely out before joining them.


	3. Chapter 3

BEEEEEEEP. BEEEEEEEP. BEEEEEEEP… BEEE-

John's hand shot out and slapped the top of the alarm clock, silencing the insistent, annoying claxon. He groaned loud enough to practically shake the walls as he tried to roll over, pulling his arm back in under the warmth of the covers. He could feel each and every single one of the bruises on his body, courtesy of that really stupid idea of teaching Ronon football and the repeated throws he'd been subjected to during the training session afterwards. Not to mention the ache in his chest where he'd had a two hundred pound bird plant its foot.

Laying there, groggy, he quickly thought the room up a few more degrees, then a few more for good measure. Yesterday he'd been too freaking hot and now it felt like he'd spent the night in a meat freezer. With his eyes closed he snuggled back in under the covers, settling back in when his eyes flew open and he sat bolt straight up and let out a string of explosive sneezes.

Crap. No matter how much he wanted to deny it, there it was. Another freaking cold. "This really bites," he muttered to himself as he threw back the covers and eased himself to sit up, legs over the side of the bed. He pulled his sweat-soaked t-shirt collar away from his neck, rubbing his sternum in an attempt to ease the ache there.

"Damn, I really wish this job came with sick days."

Twenty minutes later, he'd showered and dressed in his jacket over his zip-up over his t-shirt and he felt mostly okay again. Just a little off. Watered down, like weak coffee. At least the day's schedule was pretty light. Beckett wanted to check on the injured Mallomaran and John had agreed to fly him back out. Teyla and Ronon were coming along for the ride.

Rodney had opted out of the return visit seeing as how, regardless of how "nice" everyone was and, "yes, the eggs were delicious" but there really was no science there so this would be a good chance to run over some diagnostics with Zelenka "without anyone underfoot or bothering" him.

John entered the gate room to find Elizabeth and Rodney leaning against a console, cups of coffee in hand, sharing a conversation.

"Morning, Colonel," Elizabeth said, raising her coffee cup. "Rodney was just telling me about your visit back to Mallomara. Looking for a re-match?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

"Funny," John replied shortly.

"Well, I for one appreciate you taking me back, Colonel," Carson said as he entered the room hefting his medbag. "Would like to see how the Tylenol is treating our young friend and check the status of his injury."

"No problem, Doc. Teyla and Ronon will be joining us if you wanna go ahead and load into the jumper."

"You expecting trouble on Planet Mallomar?"

"It's MalLOWmara, McKay," John said through clenched teeth. "And no, but unlike, oh say, YOU, they know there is no 'I' in team."

"No, but there is a 'me' so I never really understood that particularly inane cliché. Besides, you don't really need me there to watch Carson do his bones and feathers thing while you play Mr. Mom. Or perhaps you really are looking for another round of feathered fisticuffs?"

"Cram it, Rodney. I'm not in the mood."

"No. No, I can see your heart's not really in it. You're usually a bit better at parrying than that oh, so scathing 'cram it.' Not really any fun for me this way-like shooting fish in a barrel. Elizabeth? Colonel? If you'll excuse me, I'll be in my lab. Have fun and bring back some eggs if you get a chance."

Teyla and Ronon passed Rodney as he exited, wiggling his fingers at them in a hello-goodbye combo. John noticed the Satedan giving him an appraising look and he felt himself straightening and pasting on a hopefully not too fake appearing smile. The last thing he needed was the big guy making a comment within Beckett's earshot.

The jumper loaded, the initial checks completed, John sat in the pilot's seat as Ronon closed up the jumper's rear door, readying to enter the gate.

He swallowed, wincing at the ache in his throat. And even with all the layers on and in the climate-controlled jumper he was still cold. And very much looking forward to the dry, hot, sun blasted planet's surface. He could almost feel the rays being soaked up by the black material of his jacket, penetrating into his aching muscles, chasing away the chill that had settled into his bones. Good old sunshine- nature's very own form of Vitamin D.

As the jumper hit the event horizon he was picturing opening up the back hatch and laying out in the sun. He just hoped he remembered his Ray Bans.

* * *

The jumper cleared the gate and John automatically began to squint, prepared for the blinding hot sun. What he wasn't prepared for was the torrential downpour they found instead.

Rain pounded on the roof of the jumper and was an impenetrable screen in what passed for the jumper's windshield. John quickly thought up a sensor array as he tried to remember where the tree line was and how high they had to go to clear the tops.

The force of the rains and a strong wind buffeted the tiny ship and Carson flashed him a worried look from the co-pilot's seat.

"Looks like the rains they talked about came early, doc. Let's go see how they're faring back at the village."

A few maneuvers later the jumper swooped over the forest and headed towards the valley clearing where the cluster of huts had been just the two days before. Now the trails they'd walked on, kicking up clouds of dust, were a river of frothy tan water and silt.

John settled the jumper into the clearing, mud splashing up in milky coffee colored waves. The storm outside was whipping up, the sound of the rain on the metal hull deafening.

"Stay here, doc!" John shouted over the din. "We'll make a quick sweep of the village and be right back."

The hatch opened and an icy wind whipped in with the rain.

"Teyla, Ronon! One sweep of the huts and back! You ready?" John bellowed then signaled the 'go' with their familiar hand signs.

The three members of the team headed out into the deluge, John immediately heading for the hut where Tiarna and her family had lived and Ronon and Teyla splitting off to search the others.

The thatch roofed little hovel had been no match for the torrential rains and howling winds. The walls had collapsed in on each other and John was able to knock one away, poking his head inside and under. The table where they'd eaten together was still there, clay plates abandoned at their places. Something glinted in a flash of lightning and he bent to skein his fingers through the mud, pulling up the foil wrapper of a power bar.

It became quickly obvious there was no sign that anyone was still there and the walls were shifting disconcertingly under the powerful gusts so he backed back out and headed for the remains of the other homes. He tapped at his earpiece, rewarded with a blast of static as another lighting flash lit the iron grey sky. After the rumble-crack of thunder that followed it he shouted for the two warriors, wiping water from his eyes as he ducked into one deserted, collapsing hut after another, team, soaked to the skin and icy cold to his marrow. He breathed a sigh of relief as the outlines of his teammates revealed themselves from within the screen of rain.

John saw them both shake their heads at the unasked question if they'd found anyone and thrust his fist in the air and signaled retreat, ordering them all back to the jumper.

The three practically fell into the back as Teyla fought to pull the hatch down, Ronon finally lending a hand as the winds caught at the door. They lay huddled in spreading puddles on the floor of the jumper, breathing heavily, then John heaved himself to his feet and settled back into the pilot seat, tremors of cold wracking his body.

"So m-much for the s-s-sun tan I was h-hoping for," he managed to stammer out between chattering teeth. "They m-must've taken to the hills. I'll m-make a quick sweep of the area. If they g-got taken by surprise, I wanna make sure they all made it to shelter."

Carson eyed up the team, all soaked and dripping, looking like drowned rats.

"Do you have any extra clothing on board, Colonel? You should all change into something dry."

"Not much use t-to it, Doc, if we're just gonna get wet again," John said with a smile. "Don't w-worry, Carson. I promise we'll make it qui-" Only it ended in a hacking cough.

"Oh, for the love of - how long have you had the cough, Colonel?"

"Just got rainwater down my throat, Doc," he rasped through his increasingly sore throat. John quickly cast a dark look at Ronon, the bigger man crossing his arms over his chest but remaining mute.

"Look, we'll scan the hills, check to make sure everyone made it to safety, then I'll _promise_ you I'll do the whole bed and fluids and chicken soup thing when we get back, okay?"

"I am worried about them," Carson said with a sigh. "Especially what with Tiarna's wee little bairns and her brother's bad shoulder."

"See? So its ag-greed." Before Carson could summon up any objections John lifted the jumper free of the mud and pointed it towards the hills.

The tree tops began to rise with the topography and thickened. Carson leaned close to the windshield, peering out into the storm. "I can't see a bloody thing out there, Colonel!"

"That's why we have the LSD, doc," John said with a smile as he summoned up the HUD. A small cluster of glowing lights formed in one area of the map. But not up in the highest ground as expected but in an area that would put them at the foot of the hills - no … actually INTO the hills.

"Looks like a series of underground caves," John mused. "They must hole up in them when the rains come. It's only a mile or so from here - I'll get us in as close as I can."

"Just try not to put us into the side of a hill, Colonel."

* * *

John set the jumper down at the foot of one of the tallest and broadest hills. Rain was cascading down the hillside in mini-Niagaras, the loose, dry soil and yellowed grasses doing little to soak up the overflow. There was another flash of lightning, this one much brighter, and followed quickly by a crack of thunder that had them all flinching.

The LSD showed life signs approximately one hundred feet up and another hundred feet into the side of the hill but there was no sign of where the entrance was.

"Colonel," Teyla spoke up from her seat, her knees pulled to her chest, her arms wrapped around them trying to stay warm. "I'm sure if the Mallomarans are used to the rains coming that they must have found a place of safety."

"I'm afraid I have to agree," Carson said with a sigh. "I know you'd like to know for sure that they are safe, Colonel, as would I, but I don't know how wise it would be to head out into this storm. You don't even know where the bloody entrance is!"

John gave careful consideration to their words. He was cold, tired, and feeling crappier by the minute. Every time he shivered the ache in his muscles seemed to dig in deeper and he would literally give a limb for a pot of hot coffee, a handful of Tylenol and a blanket. No, two blankets. He looked over at the silent member of the group.

"Ronon? Whatdya think, big guy?"

The Satedan wasn't shivering, but there was a tenseness to his body that spoke of him using great control to keep it that way. "I could take a quick look- see if I can find the entrance. Make sure everyone's okay." He shrugged. "No need for all of us to head back out." And he looked rather pointedly at John.

John chose to ignore the underlying meaning to Ronon's comment and unfolded himself from the pilot's seat, fighting to keep his hand at his side instead of rubbing at his chest as it wanted to.

"If we both go it'll make it faster. We can clear more ground that way. Twenty minutes- that's it. You find anything, try the radios. We might be able to see the flash from your gun so try that as a back up. If you get no answer or you don't see a flash in reply? You hightail it back to the jumper. You got me?" he emphasized as Ronon began bristling, readying for a retort.

"Yeah, I got you," Ronon practically growled.

John readied himself for the icy blast he knew was coming as he prepared to open the hatch once more when he realized Teyla was standing beside him.

"If we follow your logic, Colonel, then three would make it even faster."

John flashed her a grateful smile, then turned to shout over his shoulder. "Keep the heat running, Carson! We'll be back in a bit." He shoved the door open, the arm practically ripped from his shoulder as the wind caught the hatch and pulled it open as if with a giant, unseen hand. Rain struck him like a volley of stinging pellets and he jumped out to splash knee high into the floodwaters, his teammates right behind him.

* * *

John's fingers dug into the soft mud and it oozed around his fingers like cake batter. He was about a hundred feet up by his best guesstimation and should be right outside where the LSD had picked up the life signs of those he assumed to be the villagers. His foot slipped for the twentieth time, his knees slamming into the hillside as he scrambled for purchase.

The water was running in a solid stream over his face, and he had to spit and sputter frequently to clear the water from his mouth. One attempt at keeping his mouth shut and breathing through his nose had rewarded him with a snortful of rain that had him hacking until he saw stars. His fingers had long gone completely numb and he had torn several fingernails on the rocks left behind as the soil washed free.

Just as he was cursing himself for the wild goose chase and wiping the water from his wristwatch to check the time another bolt of lightning brightened the sky to a sickly yellow long enough for him to see a darker area about fifty feet away to his right.

Afraid to move his eyes from where he'd seen the shadow he ignored the watch, mentally calculating how much time he'd allotted. It was about time, according to his own orders, for him to head back. But he was so damn close.

Clinging like a barnacle to the hillside he crawled his way over to the right, toes scrambling to find a hold in the rapidly deteriorating ground beneath him. His hands landed on a rocky shelf and his ragged and bloodied fingers latched onto it, trying to haul his body up onto it. His arms were trembling, his body completely worn out and he felt himself begin to slip. He let out a cry and resigned himself to a bumpy, skin shredding ride down the side of the hill when he felt a steel band wrap itself around his wrist and begin to haul him up.

* * *

John lay sprawled on the stony floor, the rains a solid sheet behind him, as if they were behind a waterfall. He gasped for breath, not an ounce of energy left, his body trembling with cold and exhaustion. As it slowly dawned on him that he wasn't a pile of broken bones at the bottom of the hill he looked up and into the eyes of Tiarna's husband.

"We only saw you in the last storm flash," the man said, holding out a hand that John took gratefully as he hauled himself up enough to sit up, leaning back on his hands. His breath still plumed out of him in silver bursts of vapor.

_So he does talk. _

"Yeah. I uh, came to offer help," John said, a lopsided grin curling his lips as he realized who'd wound up needing the aid.

"The rains came earlier than we expected," the man said stonily. "We almost did not make it to the sheltering place in time." He turned his head towards the back of the large cave.

Tiarna sat against the wall, surrounded by baskets filled with provisions. The baby was in her wicker carrier and her older children flanked her on each side, sitting with shell-shocked looks on their faces. The smallest boy was in his mother's lap, bawling hysterically while Tiarna held him, rocking the small body close to her as she cried with him.

"What's wrong with Japeth?"

"He fell as we were making our way up the hill. His leg is badly injured."

John planted a hand on the cold ground and pushed himself up to his knees. Walking wasn't really an option yet and the roof of the cavern was low anyway as evidenced by the way Tiarna's husband was stooped over. He knee-walked over to Tiarna's side and she turned to look at him, her face red from crying, tears covering her soft, round cheeks.

"Hey, Japeth," John said softly. "Hey, buddy. You hurt your leg?"

The toddler removed his face from his mother's bosom long enough to take a breath and look at John. He nodded shortly then his face crumpled as his crying began anew.

John moved Tiarna's skirt away from where it covered the boy, revealing a small, skinny tanned set of legs, one of which was obviously broken.

"Do you have anything we can splint it with?" John asked, touching Tiarna's arm to bring her attention back to him. "Tiarna? If we can splint Japeth's leg, Dr. Beckett is down in the jumper. We can fix his leg, but I need to take him back down with me."

John tapped his earpiece but got nothing but static again. "Tiarna, secure his leg as best you can. We'll secure him to my back and I'll take him back down with me so the doc can fix him up. How long do the rains last?"

"Several turns of the sun, usually. There are longer breaks between the storms. That's how we know they are ending."

"Well, we can bring him back after the rains have slowed. I'll take good care of him, I promise," he said, holding her eyes with his. She looked to her husband who nodded shortly at her and she allowed a small smile, wiping a hand over her sodden lip. "Dr. Beckett took good care of Jonlar. Please ask him to do the same for my boy."

* * *

John fired another pulse from his stunner out the entrance of the cave, the bolt of blue shining brightly against the dark. He could only hope that the team saw it as he saw no answering red from Ronon's gun.

The boy had been strapped securely onto his back with some of the leather straps the men of the village had worn and his crying had quieted somewhat after the trauma of applying the splint had passed.

John shifted the boy a bit to ease the pressure on his shoulders and where the straps dug into his sternum, then gave a reassuring look to the boy's parent's who stared at him, white-lipped with worry. As he dropped below the lip of the shelf he saw Tiarna fall into her husband's waiting arms, sobbing horribly.

Japeth's fingers clenched in the neck of John's shirt as the boy buried his face into his back. The rains were just as hard but at least the lightning seemed to have passed by while they were in the cave.

"Hang on, Japeth!" John shouted, reaching back to squeeze the toddler's arm. "We'll be down before you know it."

They made their way down, John picking his way slowly but steadily down the hill, the lightweight load on his back still enough to pull his balance off. He clung to knotted plant roots and stones, his boots digging into the soft mud, his knees acting almost as a second set of feet.

Approximately fifty feet still from the ground he was seized by a bout of coughing and he flattened his body to the hillside, hugging the ground as his chest exploded in agony. He felt a small tapping on his back and he realized it was the boy's hand, trying to ease his coughing as his mother must have done.

"Thanks, buddy," John rasped out when he caught his breath. His throat was on fire and it felt like his chest was being squeezed in a vice. He was exhausted, frozen to the core, and had a small life he was now responsible for. John could feel the boy's warmth through his layers of sopping clothing and it gave him the strength he needed to start again.

Rising to his hands and knees, John began once more to make their way down to the ground. Slip sliding his way down, half sledding on his stomach, the knees of his BDUs ripped open, John risked a quick look over his shoulder.

There. In the light of a lingering lightning flash, he caught the glint of metal. The jumper. Closer than he would've ever thought possible. The sight lent him a last meager burst of adrenaline and he uttered a shaky curse of relief as he felt his feet touch the bottom. He lurched his way over to the jumper and fell against the hatch, lifting a weary hand to pound on the hull.

Seconds later the back opened and his team piled out, their expressions mixed anger and relief. Strong hands wrapped around his bicep while an arm wrapped around his waist and he was bodily hauled into the jumper where he found he had to sprawl out on his stomach due to the toddler's position on his back.

He felt fingers undoing the straps and then the small warm body was lifted from his.

"Bloody hell, Colonel!" Carson spluttered, the first to speak what they were probably all thinking. "What happened to twenty minutes? We were worried sick about you!"

"The boy," John gasped out between heaving breaths. "Broken leg… knew you couldn't get up … rest are okay."

Teyla held the boy in her arms and Carson checked out the splint and the leg beneath it, reaching over to ruffle the boy's dripping hair and wipe the water from his face. "Poor thing's cold as ice," he tutted, pulling out one of the foil emergency blankets that Teyla and Ronon were already wrapped in.

"Here, lass. Not much to be done til we're back in Atlantis. Try to wrap him up and keep him close. And you," Carson continued, wheeling around to see that John still lay sprawled on the floor. "Colonel?" he asked, stopping himself before the lecture could begin. "Are ya hurt?"

John closed his eyes, not even enough breath left to answer.

"Och! Of course you are," Carson muttered. He grabbed John's arm as if to turn him over and gasped. A cool hand was placed on John's cheek and Carson's face deepened in a scowl. "You're burnin' up with fever. Probably the only reason you haven't succumbed to hypothermia. Are you hurt anywhere else?"

John forced himself to open bleary eyes. Carson was on his knees next to John's head, bent over, his face close, brow knitted with concern. John shook his head, then began coughing, letting out a seal-like bark. His chest rapped against the steel floor with every cough until Ronon reached over and hooked a meaty paw into his jacket and rolled him over onto his back.

"Thanks," John managed to get out before another coughing jag seized him. He could feel his lungs struggling to bring in air and his vision started to blur at the edges.

"Can't… breathe… so good," he panted, his hand rubbing at his sternum. He felt an oxygen mask being fit over his face just as the grey closed in.


	4. Chapter 4

From the moment the allotted time that Sheppard had ordered had passed Ronon knew something was going badly. Put it down to senses honed by all the years he was running, call it intuition, or the odd but undeniable bond he'd made with this team, but the itch he got in his brain that told him when Wraith were coming or a gun was bearing down on him was there again. It raised the hackles on his neck and had his body humming with underplayed tension.

Twenty minutes had turned to an hour and there'd been no sign of Sheppard. Teyla had made it back to the jumper, oozing water and disgruntlement and she'd been late so he shook off the initial concerns he had and joined her in the relative warmth of the craft. He'd waved away the blanket Beckett thrust at him; he knew what true cold was when little was between you and the elements but leathers and skins scavenged from a dozen different planets. His Satedan uniform was but a distant memory, taken from him by the Wraith. They'd given him some of their own clothing when he was first released for his Run, but he'd quickly shed the alien feeling, Wraith-_smelling _garments as soon as he'd found replacements.

Beckett's removal of the tracking device had been the first time he'd felt completely human and Wraith-free in seven years. That had been the beginning of it all- this new stage in his life. Malena and his squad left behind as ashes to be replaced by the Colonel, the warrior princess, the fidgety and annoying genius, and the doctor who had started it all. Sateda was left in rubble to be replaced by the towering spires of Atlantis.

"It's been too long," Beckett said with a sigh, speaking the words that Ronon had been thinking, and Teyla too by the way her face wrinkled with concern.

"I'm headed back out," Ronon grunted by way of acknowledgement.

"You'll not see anything out there, lad," Beckett said, but in a way that told him he really wanted Ronon to go back out and look.

"Won't see anything if I don't look, doc." And there was no beating that logic so Beckett nodded his head sadly and didn't offer any more resistance.

* * *

The rain's force hadn't lessened- in fact the winds had picked up some and it was all Ronon could do to lean his body into the maelstrom and fight for every step. He let loose a volley from his gun, the red laser bursts quickly swallowed up by the dark, scattered by the sheets of water.

Placing a hand over his eyes trying to keep his vision clear he scanned the area for an answering blue - something to tell him Sheppard was still out there.

Grunting to himself when he found no sign he holstered his weapon and dug into the side of the hill, clambering against the torrents of water rushing back at him. Large chunks of the hillside were tumbling down at him; rocks and mud and small trees. The battered remains of a small creature washed by him, its body already broken and limp.

He forced his foot into a small crevice and hefted his weight up, grabbing for another handhold when he felt the ground beneath him give. He found himself falling-sliding back down the hill along with a massive chunk of earth and rocks and mud.

He struck the bottom with a breath-seizing thud, instinct the only thing saving him as he shoved himself back with his long legs as the mudslide attempted to bury him in bone-crushing rocks and dirt. A massive boulder struck the bottom where he'd been only a split second before and an avalanche of mud followed behind, covering the side of the jumper where it had been seated at the foot of the hill.

More trees and rocks continued to tumble down for several minutes, then quieted as Ronon sat sputtering rain out of his mouth as he stared angrily, incredulously at the jumper, its front section now half buried in hillside.

He swore in a combination of Satedan and epithets he'd picked up from the Earthers as he stared at the disaster, the rain washing away the mud that had covered him from head to foot but for some that had soaked into his dreaded hair braids.

Teyla emerged warily from the rear of the ship, her eyes alighting on him sitting on the ground. "Ronon! Are you all right?" she cried as she rushed over to crouch at his side.

"Mudslide," he muttered shortly, his eyes still assessing the damage. "And I didn't find Sheppard."

"But are _you_ all right, Ronon?" she repeated, fighting to be heard over the winds and rain, scanning his body for injury as he still sat in the foot deep water.

"I'm fine," he grunted, planting a hand into the water with an angry splash as he hauled himself up. He winced and sucked in a breath as he felt the familiar pain of cracked ribs.

He took a few stumbling steps, wading through the shin deep waters to better see the extent of damage the slide had done. Teyla's eyes grew wide as she too saw what had happened. The two began digging into the muck and mess, pulling away gobs of earth and rocks. A large _yupa_ tree had been felled and was now leaning over the roof of the jumper.

The two warriors dug in, struggling to push the tree away but they couldn't gain any traction beneath their feet.

"Ronon, it is no use!" Teyla shouted over the storm. "We should return to the jumper!"

Ronon gave one final attempt at pulling the _yupa_ from the ship, growling as he strained with every muscle and sinew he had. The effort pulled at his cracked ribs and he shouted with frustration as he dropped his arms in anger and defeat. He wrapped an arm around his chest and nodded shortly at Teyla, following her back to the shelter of the jumper where they pounded on the hatch for entrance.

Beckett pulled the door shut behind them, handing the blanket back to Teyla as she poured herself back onto the bench, her whole body quaking with cold.

"This is just bloody ridiculous!" Beckett yelled, stabbing at the air with his hands. "You both need to stay inside before you freeze to death. Och, what have you done to yourself, lad?" he asked, hurrying over when he saw Ronon's arm tense around his chest.

"Ribs. I'm fine," he said, dropping his arm in an attempt to prove it to the doctor.

"How's about you let me be the judge of that?" he was asked with a raised eyebrow and hands already reaching out. Beckett was a stubborn man when it came to his team's health and Ronon relented to the physician's poking and prodding until he'd satisfied himself that cracked ribs was the extent of the injury. "Here! Take a blanket- I'll not have you going into shock, you bloody great fool."

Ronon paused, then decided it wasn't worth the fight and while he was stronger than the average man, used to roughing it, and fending for himself he was still subject to the same needs as the average man. And he was cold. And he wouldn't be able to go back out and look for Sheppard if he succumbed to hypothermia. So he took the blanket and muttered a thanks, wrapping it around his shoulders and leaning tiredly against the wall of the jumper.

"So, do I dare ask what that horrid beastly noise was?" Beckett asked, temporarily not needed, collapsing himself onto a bench.

Teyla glanced over at Ronon then turned to the doctor. "It was a mudslide. The jumper will not be able to take off."

Beckett only nodded as if he was expecting this next set back. "Alrighty then. I say we get Lorne and a bunch of his men out searchin' for Colonel Sheppard and then take us off this soggy planet."

"We need to get back to the gate and dial out, doc," Ronon reminded him. "If I could find the gate I could probably find Sheppard, but you can't see an inch from your face out there."

Beckett's face fell. "Right, right," he muttered. "How long 'til they miss us?"

"I b-believe Colonel Sheppard mentioned something about _wishing he had dental surgery _scheduled for 1400 hours," Teyla replied from where she was huddled under her blanket.

"Ah. Meeting with Kavanagh and his bunch, I'll wager," Beckett said with a small smile. He glanced at his watch. "It's 1300 now. Let's just count on Kavanagh complainin' when the colonel doesn't show."

He then slapped his hands with finality on his thighs. "Right then, my turn." He stood and walked to the back hatch, preparing to leave, Ronon's hand shooting out to grab his arm.

Before Ronon could protest there was a pounding on the outside of the jumper.

Beckett's eyes lit up and he hurriedly opened the hatch, Teyla and Ronon right behind him.

Sheppard was leaning against the hull, his face alabaster pale where it wasn't covered in mud, practically glowing in the darkness. And he appeared to be burdened with a heavy load on his back.

He took one step towards the craft, lurching badly and Ronon grabbed his arm while Beckett wrapped an arm around his waist to help the man back into the jumper, Teyla hastily shutting the hatch behind them.

As soon as Sheppard was inside he dropped face first onto the floor of the ship. The identity of his burden was soon clear as a small boy peeked his head up to look at the gathered group.

Ronon recognized the boy from the village and knelt down to work at the leather straps holding the toddler onto Sheppard's back. The bindings were swollen, the knots impenetrable, so he pulled one of his thinnest knives out and slipped it underneath, cutting them apart with several well-placed slices.

"Bloody hell, Colonel!" Beckett said, concern and anger mixed in his voice. "What happened to twenty minutes? We were worried sick about you!"

"The boy" Sheppard gasped out between heaving breaths. "Broken leg… knew you couldn't get up … rest are okay."

Beckett went over to where Teyla held the crying toddler in her lap and checked the splint.

"Poor wee bairn's cold as ice," he said as he fussed over the child, pulling out one of the foil emergency blankets.

"Here, lass. Not much to be done 'til we're back in Atlantis. Try to wrap him up and keep him close. And you," Beckett continued, wheeling around to see that Sheppard still lay sprawled on the floor. "Colonel? Are you hurt?"

When no answer was forthcoming but for the colonel shutting his eyes Beckett muttered, "Och! Of course you are." He grabbed Sheppard's arm to turn him over and gasped, placing his hand on the fallen man's cheek. The doctor's face deepened in a scowl. "You're burnin' up with fever. Probably the only reason you haven't succumbed to hypothermia. Are you hurt anywhere else?"

Sheppard didn't answer, just lifted his head from the ground slightly only to begin coughing, deep from in his chest. Ronon was over in a flash, hooking his hand around Sheppard's vest and hauling him over onto his back.

"Thanks," Sheppard managed to get out before another coughing jag started. "Can't… breathe… so good," he panted out between coughs, his hand digging into his sternum.

Beckett snatched his med bag, hauling out a portable oxygen tank and was already placing the mask over Sheppard's mouth before even completely unspooling the translucent green tubing. The pilot's eyes closed down again and he fell limply against the floor of the jumper while Beckett fiddled with the dials on the tank.

Teyla laid the boy down on the bench then knelt down next to Sheppard and began to place one of the foil blankets over his shaking form when the doctor looked over. "No, lass. No blanket."

"But is he not suffering as we are?"

"Aye, he's probably cold but we need to leave him that way." He plucked a digital thermometer from his bag and stuck it in the colonel's ear, waited the few seconds for it to beep then scowled as he noted the reading. "101. And that's after a good soaking in icy water."

"Bloody hell," Beckett bit out angrily. "This didn't happen from being out in the rain, that's for damn sure. Bugger's probably been sick and didn't need to tell the CMO. Stubborn--"

Ronon reached out and placed a hand on the physician, stilling his fretting for a moment.

But Beckett shook the hand off irritably, scowling as he dug deeper into his medbag and began pulling out boxes and bottles. "Don't you say a word, Ronon. You're just as bad as he is. The both of you, so convinced you're above needin' help."

"Sheppard's not above it. He knows he's not," Ronon replied calmly.

Beckett stopped and met eyes with the Satedan.

Ronon had spent almost as much time in the infirmary as Beckett had during Sheppard's metamorphosis and subsequent long recovery. He'd stayed at Sheppard's side as they all railed against what they thought was the inevitable. He'd been at Sheppard's side again as the colonel went on that last desperate mission, carrying his dying body back to Beckett's care. And he had held Sheppard firmly through the painful work the retrovirus cure had done, leaving the colonel thrashing in his bed while his body had undergone molecular and metabolic changes that affected every cell in his body.

"Aye, lad," Beckett said with a long sigh. "Doesn't mean he's not going to get a lecture when he's back out of the woods," he said more kindly this time.

"All right. Let's see what he did to himself this time."

Ronon held Sheppard half up while Beckett divested the pilot of his jacket and outer shirt. It was like undressing a rag doll, the colonel still limp and unresponsive.

"Going to have to cut the tee off, I'm afraid," the doctor muttered to himself as his practiced hand ran a pair of bandage scissors up the front of the under shirt. "Can't take it off of him with the oxygen on," he continued when Teyla raised a questioning eyebrow at him.

The colonel's one arm had a deep laceration from his wrist over the top of his arm to the elbow and his chest held a few reddening areas where bruises would probably form, and some other older, already purpling bruises. Beckett quickly checked his ribs and stomach. "One small spot of luck," the doctor murmured. He gave a quick look at the colonel's back then nodded at Ronon to go ahead and lay the man back down again.

The doctor then ran the scissors up each pant leg, pulling the mud covered and ripped fabric off and tossing it into a sodden pile in the corner.

Sheppard's legs were banged up from his scrambling up the rocky hillside. One leg had a long, deep scratch that ran from his shin to his thigh from a sharp rock or tree branch and watery blood still leaked to trickle out in rivulets that mixed with the mud.

The other leg's kneecap had been sliced open and was already darkening with discoloration.

"Teyla, love, hand me that blanket would you?"

She did so, then cocked her head as she saw the doctor placing it over Sheppard.

"Carson, did you not say that John should not be covered?"

"Aye, I did, love. But I don't think he would appreciate having you seein' him in his skivvies."

"No," came a croak from under the oxygen mask. Sheppard's hand rose weakly to pull the mask aside. "No, _he_ wouldn't." And he pulled the blanket up further onto his chest.

"Colonel, that's not decoration, lad. Leave it on," Beckett said, gently scolding as he tried to replace the oxygen mask.

Sheppard batted his hand away and tried to ease himself into a more comfortable position on the cold metal floor of the jumper.

"Why is it I always wake up without my clothes around you, doc?" Sheppard asked with a grimace.

Beckett was obviously not in the mood for jokes. "You have only yourself to blame for this, Colonel," he huffed, planting hands on his hips. "You've got yourself into a right mess."

"Just a cold, Carson," Sheppard said, then began another series of deep, barking coughs.

"I think we've passed the sniffles and moved onto systemic infection, Colonel. I'm guessing you've been sick for a while…?"

Sheppard cast his eyes over at Ronon, but the Satedan was giving him no refuge, instead folding his arms across his chest with a slight wince as his ribs twinged.

"Maybe," Sheppard conceded, closing his eyes tiredly beneath the concerned glare of the doctor. "Just tired of runnin' to you with every sneeze, doc."

"I imagine you were, lad," Beckett said softly. "But I wish you'd have let me know. A blood test could have had you on antibiotics and given you a chance to fend whatever this is off before it got so deeply entrenched."

Sheppard just nodded and began coughing again. After catching his breath and swallowing several times he reopened bleary eyes and looked over at the boy who slept on the bench.

"How's Japeth?"

"The lad's fine but for the leg," Beckett said. "I'm hoping he'll sleep until we get back and we can set it. I'll give him a small sedative and some Tylenol and that should help."

"When we get back… why aren't we back yet? I'm good -- for now--" he amended as Beckett raised a querulous eyebrow at him. "You can go pilot this thing home, Carson."

Ronon spoke up from his seat. "Mudslide. Covered the whole front of the jumper. We're not going anywhere."

Sheppard began trying to push himself up but Beckett didn't even have time to stop him before he fell back down to start coughing again.

Teyla folded herself onto the floor next to Sheppard's head.

"Perhaps I can make you a little more comfortable, Colonel?"

He gazed at her gratefully and allowed her help in propping himself up to rest his head on her leg.

"Guess I can't get you any wetter, huh, Teyla," Sheppard said with a tired smile. She raised a hand to wipe her nose where a drop of water had escaped her still sopping wet hair. "You look cold, too. Did the slide damage the jumper? Why aren't the heaters working?"

"They are working, Colonel," came the answer, not from Teyla. "It's _your_ thermostat that's gone pear-shaped." Beckett dropped down next to him carrying IV equipment.

"All right, lad. Let's get you hooked up. Teyla, love, would you mind holding the colonel? He's shaking like a leaf and we don't want to have problems stickin' him."

"No, _we _don't," Sheppard agreed, staring challengingly at the doctor.

Teyla slid her arms around his shoulders and over his arms, her hands grasping him firmly but gently to keep him as still as possible.

Beckett swabbed away a clean spot in the mud with an alcohol swab, then slid the needle home with nary a flinch from his patient.

"There we go, all in. Well done," Beckett said as he hung a bag of fluids above them. "Thank you, Teyla. You can let go of him now."

"If I c-c-an't have T-Teyla… can I at l-least have a b-b-blanket?" Sheppard asked as he lost the warmth of her arms. His shivering had worsened and Ronon could feel the vibrations from the pilot's quaking on the metal floor reverberating up through the bench he sat on.

Beckett gazed sorrowfully at Sheppard. "Afraid not, John. It was only your time out in the elements that's kept your temperature from hitting dangerous levels."

He pulled the thermometer out and placed it back in Sheppard's ear, his expression darkening as he read the results. "It's still risin' I'm afraid."

"'f I'm so hot, why am I s-s-o f-f-f-f-rickin' c-c-c-- ?" He never got to finish his question as he was seized by another horrible coughing jag. After it eased a bit Beckett snatched the O2 mask up from where it hung on Sheppard's chest and placed it back over his mouth.

Sheppard's hand rose to press the mask to his mouth, gulping at the oxygen with deep gasping, wheezing breaths. He finally settled a bit, letting his hand drop weakly to the floor.

"This sucks," was clearly heard from under the plastic mask.

Ronon grinned in spite of himself. Sheppard always knew what was what and, as usual, had summed up the situation perfectly. "Teyla said you had something scheduled for today?"

Sheppard looked blankly at him, then he moved the mask aside as realization dawned on his face and his lips curled in a tired but triumphant smile. "Yeah…I _did. _D-d-damn it - I'm gonna miss it. Guess that's d-d-doubly lucky."

"Who'd have thought we'd all be countin' on Kavanagh bein' a pain in the arse," Beckett chuckled as he injected medication into Sheppard's IV port. "Don't know about you all, but I'm feelin' pretty confident right now."

* * *

"I'm telling you, McKay, I won't tolerate this. I hold a position of respect around here--"

"Where? Where, Kavanagh, do you find anyone who respects you?" Rodney asked offhandedly as he pecked at his keyboard.

"That's not funny, McKay. I had a team sitting in that conference room for twenty minutes and Sheppard just blew me off. I heard them laughing- laughing at me, I might add. I know Sheppard's not a scientist- just a military flyboy, but I thought I had explained it in terms that he would understand. This proposal I have will work if he'd--"

"Yes, yes, Kavanagh. Sheppard told me he was actually mildly intrigued by your idea, although I, of course, had some issues with it. You completely neglected to figure in the --"

"I don't care, McKay! My proposal wasn't for you, it was for Sheppard. He's the only one Weir listens to and --"

"What do you mean, _he_'s the only one Weir listens to?" Rodney spluttered as he rose up from his computer. "I'll have you know that as the _head_ of the sciences division, I have the ear of not only Dr. Weir but the entire SGC. You're merely the ASS of the sciences division, Kavanagh. And what do you mean, Sheppard blew you off? I know for a fact he was planning on showing, though not necessarily with a smile on his face."

"He. Never. Showed, Kavanagh said, folding his long arms over his chest. "And Weir is going to hear about this."

"Yes, yes, for once I agree with you," Rodney muttered as he closed up his laptop. "Let's go tell her, shall we?"

They found Elizabeth in her office and she looked up as the two men entered.

"Gentlemen?" She inquired with a raised eyebrow.

"Dr. Weir --"

"Elizabeth--"

"One at a time, gentlemen. Please. Rodney?"

"_Told you_," Rodney said with a smug smile and a tip of his head towards the ponytailed scientist. "Sheppard never showed for Kavanagh's meeting. Did he and the team come back from Planet Mallomar yet?"

Elizabeth smiled at the joke but then shook her head. Not that I'm aware of. She tapped her earpiece. "Chuck? Did Colonel Sheppard's team arrive back yet?"

"_No, ma'am. No activity in the gate room since they left this morning and no incoming transmissions."_

"Thank you," she answered distractedly, tapping her ear once more, then closing her laptop. "Rodney? Did John mention anything to you about his plans?"

"Just that he and Beckett were going back to the village to check on an injured Mallomaran. You're not worried, are you, Elizabeth?" he asked, knowing she was and he was but keeping up appearances in front of his nemesis.

"It isn't like him not to radio in if he's going to be delayed," she mused.

"There was nothing on that planet, Elizabeth. Dust and giant ostriches and fruit trees. Their science hasn't developed much beyond the wheel."

"Exactly, Rodney. So what could it be that would keep John there any longer than necessary?"

"Good point. I'll get Lorne and take a jumper down there."

* * *

Carson finished giving the boy a sip of water and checked the toddler's temperature with a hand on his forehead. He checked the IV he'd set up as he had no children's liquid meds for the boy and he couldn't imagine the child swallowing a bunch of pills.

"You're a brave lad," he said with a smile of reassurance. "Just go on back to sleep now." He pulled the blanket back up over the small shoulders and waited until the child had fallen back asleep before injecting the contents of the syringe into the port. That'll make you feel much better, son, he soothed.

He stood with a sigh. One easy patient he could make comfortable with some Tylenol and a sedative. His other was miserable and his condition was growing worse by the hour.

Teyla looked up from where she still sat on the floor with Sheppard's head in her lap. The colonel had deteriorated further and faster than Carson could keep up with. His quaking had never subsided and his fever had risen to over 105.

"The Tylenol's not enough," Carson said quietly. "And I don't think we have time to wait for a rescue. He needs to be cooled down now."

"Perhaps we could get some mud from outside? It would retain the cold if we applied it to his body."

"That's a good idea, lass, but it would take too long to gather enough to do him any good. No, I think we need to get him back outside. Ronon?"

The Satedan was uncurled from his seat in a flash, standing at Sheppard's feet, obviously eager to finally be useful.

"Careful of the oxygen and IV," Carson said as he squatted down to gather up the tubing. "Teyla, love, can you help me with this end?"

Carson and Teyla lifted Sheppard into a sitting position and Ronon grabbed him up by the armpits and hauled him to his feet.

Sheppard awakened a bit from his delirium and blinked fuzzily around. "Wha--? Where --"

"Sorry, lad," Carson said as he made his way to the hatch. "I can only promise you we're doing this for your own good."

Teyla slipped one arm over her shoulder, Ronon the other, and they began walking Sheppard forward, his body limp as cooked spaghetti between them. Until he felt the first blast of icy air hit his bare skin.

"What are you --? Why--?"

Sick or not, Sheppard had a wiry strength that belied his slender build. Teyla fought to keep his hand firmly in hers as he squirmed to get free. "Colonel- John, please. We need to get you outside, your fever is too high."

"Doc says we need to do this, Sheppard," Ronon said calmly, then wrapped his arm around the colonel's waist and began to bodily haul him out the hatch.

"No… stop…" Sheppard made one final attempt to break free, the arm with the IV in it wrenching away, dislodging the needle as he did so.

"Bloody hell!" Carson yelled. The wind and rain was whipping into the tiny craft now and the floor was slippery with water and the blood that ran from Sheppard's arm. "Don't worry about the IV, just get him out here!"

Teyla grabbed the flailing arm and placed it back over her shoulders, gripping his wrist tightly as they carried Sheppard down the ramp.

The floodwaters at the bottom were now almost three feet high and they waded in hip deep, Sheppard still fighting between them.

"Lower him into the water!" Carson shouted over the howl of the winds. "I've got the oxygen!"

Teyla and Ronon began to bend at the knee, allowing gravity and the man's weakness to fold Sheppard's body down slowly. He let out a pathetic cry as his body was immersed in the freezing water but his teammates kept a firm grip on him, holding him so his head was the only part of him uncovered. His legs kicked feebly as he continued to protest, stirring up icy, mud saturated water in small splashes.

"What the hell are you people doing?!"

The group turned as a flashlight beam flared into view, scanning their faces from an unknown source.

The light was lowered and Rodney and Lorne and two Marines stood in the hip deep water, staring at the spectacle of the colonel thrashing around in the muddy water while his teammates held him down.


	5. Chapter 5

The arrival to the infirmary occurred in a flurry of sound and motion. John kept his eyes closed to lessen the impact of the blurring ceiling tiles. Throwing up on top of his misery would not be ideal. In fact, he doubted his ability to roll over to his side if his belly did decide to rebel. He tried to let the gurney ride lull his foggy brain, hoping the blackness might finally take him under. It beat the hell out of listening to the voices that surrounded him in a maelstrom once he was out of the jumper.

Carson's weary, edgy tone as he ordered the people hovering around to give them space. Rodney's endless barrage of questions and snippy commentary that blended together with new voices, medical personnel feeding Carson information and even a quiet conversation in Elizabeth's voice that faded away as they wheeled him past.

Darkness beckoned but would not consume him and his body's thermostat contained to screw with him. Despite everyone's insistence that he was burning up, John felt a bone-numbing cold that had seeped into his very marrow.

His head swam in a sea of dizziness, chest heaving as if under the pressure of ocean water. His heart thundered, eyes snapping open fitfully as he struggled to take in longer, deeper breaths. The ultra stark whiteness of the lights above him hurt his eyes and he squeezed them shut as they watered.

"Easy now, lad. Hold on."

Carson's voice drifted through the tendrils of panic, and the plastic of a nasal cannula rubbed under his nose, but it wasn't enough.

"For crying out loud- is that thing even working?" he heard McKay demand from somewhere off to his right.

Someone turned the feed up on his oxygen and the weight lifted from his chest. He wanted to tell Rodney that yes, it's working, but he was too busy enjoying the ability to breathe easier.

"There you go, Colonel, that's it," Carson's voice soothed.

His ride moved again, then swung around until he was under more blinding lights, then another blood pressure cuff slipped around his bicep and began pumping. A nurse attached a clip to his finger but all he wanted to do was feel warm and none of this activity was getting him there. He shivered, clad only in his boxers, almost all of his skin covered in dried and drying mud.

"Want a shower," he whispered, the cost of talking a fire scorching the lining of his throat, followed by the encore of a coughing fit.

"In a little while," Carson's voice promised.

Sheppard was an intelligent man, more than he let on sometimes. While he knew that his brain understood that he was raging with a high fever, it still sent signals to the rest of his nervous system that he was cold.

"Doc, how about a blanket now?" His teeth chattered, his body a mass of trembling limbs. The worst part was that everyone else had a front row seat to whatever the mystery illness did to him.

_Might as well offer popcorn_, he mused darkly.

John felt vulnerable and so very exposed, not the best position for a military commander. While Ronon and Teyla were with him in the infirmary, they knew to stay far enough away to give him some space, waiting with Elizabeth. Rodney, on the other hand, didn't get the hint. Carson and his staff were too busy to usher the fretting scientist off to the balcony seats for the John Sheppard Show.

"I want enough for several samples, love, and be sure to get an arterial blood gas," Beckett instructed one of his staff.

One nurse began sponging his chest with soapy water to add to his humiliation, the tepid attempt to rid the muck and grime distracting him briefly before more hands tugged on his IV. A very sharp pain drilled a hole in the crook of his elbow and burrowed there for a long time.

"_Ow_," he complained, watching a very large vial fill with dark crimson.

A sheet was quickly draped over his middle and he clutched the end to draw over the rest of his exposed body, avoiding the new plethora of wires and leads attached to the freshly cleaned part of his chest. His ears filled with the rapid beeping noise of a monitor.

Carson turned to him, giving John something to focus on other then the whirlwind of activity all around his bed. He hated being the center of this much attention and tried unsuccessfully to snuggle under the paper thin sheet that held no sense of salvation. He knew his blood boiled from within, but still he trembled with cold.

"We're giving you some more Tylenol and I've added some broad spectrum antibiotics 'til we find the bug that's got a hold you, lad."

John fought off lethargy, the drowsiness that tried to keep his eyelids closed. "D-don't say b-b-ug. Can't you do something..? I'm so c-c-cold."

He was reduced to shaky syllables, the war wreaking havoc with his body, depleting his reserves.

"Actually, you're not," he heard Rodney butt in. "Just the opposite in fact. It's your hypothalamus. Apparently, it's the one part of your brain that still seems to function despite frying like an egg inside your skull. Seems the body and the brain play this _who's on first _with each other. Your brain signals your body it's cold when it's hot, then resets itself, telling the body it's hot as it cools down. Rather fascinating, actually--"

"Enough, Rodney! Go wait with the others while I take care of the colonel." Carson began to corral McKay who stubbornly refused to leave.

"I…I was just trying to explain to Sheppard the mechanism behind something he clearly has no understanding of since it has nothing to do with guns, flying or football..."

"Go. _Now_." Beckett tugged on the physicist's arm, dragging him away from John's side.

Lead weighed down his eyelids, and John cradled his arms around himself in a fitful attempt to quiet the shaking. It was odd, his hands brushed up and down his arms, the iciness of his fingertips melting into the fire of his skin. It was disconcerting to say the least. Where was unconsciousness when he wanted it most? He would probably sleep if he could just stop shaking for a second.

He felt a sensation in his ear then heard a muted curse. "Damn, it's up again."

He wondered who Carson was talking to and he felt someone shake his shoulder. "Sleeping," he mumbled, trying to ignore the insistent hand.

"Aye, I know, son. Just wanted you to know that we're going to cool you down with a bath."

"Shower," he replied with a half smile, knowing he had to at least try.

A bath would be nice; his hair was plastered onto his forehead, and mud still encrusted the majority of his body. It was starting to itch a little, too. His legs ached in myriad places, injuries he hadn't noticed while numbed with icy water and adrenaline were now popping up their heads to say 'hi' and his arm still stung from the laceration he'd gotten from a tree root. The sheet was removed and he moaned as a blast of arctic air prickled at his skin. The nurse bathing him was a phantom. He didn't even notice another tube being inserted until a dull pain in his lower region protested the intrusion.

The darkness that had filled in the edges of his vision was finally starting to close in. He pictured himself at McMurdo, flying high above the glaciers, the sun behind him casting a visible shadow on the expanse of white below. He closed his eyes and drifted off in Antarctica's snowy arms.

* * *

Rodney didn't like playing the waiting game, mainly because there were was only one rule. If the game couldn't be outsmarted, broken or worked around then it was pointless and a sheer waste of his time. It didn't help that this feeling was shared by present company; the collective humming vibe of discontent and worry was enough to crack already splintered nerves . 

"You do John no good, pacing like that," Teyla reasoned.

He glared at her. "No one's doing him any good right now The quacks in white coats have no clue what's going on," he snapped.

"Rodney…" Elizabeth's voice warned him to calm down.

Teyla played with the ends of the blanket wrapped around her shoulders and Ronon sat silently at the end of one of the beds, after he'd 'informed' a nurse that he wasn't going to lay down. To a Satedan, busted ribs were as annoying as a hang nail, apparently. The runner's brooding silence was another source of annoyance, and Rodney briefly wished he could just sulk like that.

Instead he spun around to snarl at the team some more.

They let him rant but it did little to relieve the pressure building up inside him. For a change the planet wasn't filled with space vampires, rebel forces or things that wanted to eat or kill them all. Nope, just sticks, stones, fire and a bunch of peasant farmers and yet fate stuck its foot out to trip Colonel John Sheppard up once again.

* * *

He tapped on his keyboard trying to get some work done, but it was damn distracting trying to work out one of many projects and experiments while waiting around in Carson's lair. Dealing with an unknown illness had put a lockdown on all of their activities and sequestered them to an out of the way area. Two dinner trays sat on a table he'd confiscated; one empty the other holding a single bowl of blue jello. It didn't make him happy, knowing that he'd been offered Sheppard's uneaten meal. 

Rodney stood looking at it, tempted by the offer of seconds, but then an annoying voice in his head whispered to him that it was wrong. Ronon, not dealing well with the whole _cooped with no place to go_, strode past him, staring at him staring at the dessert. Conan had occupied himself cleaning his guns, his blade, then Teyla's. When he'd begun target practice with his knife and part of a wall, he'd been kindly asked to stop by Elizabeth. She, of course, didn't fool anyone, filling out paperwork to one side.

Teyla wandered over to him. She'd long since showered and changed out of her uniform into a scrub top and a pair of sweats one of the nurses kept around in the infirmary. She held a bowl of blue jello in her hands and offered it to him.

"I did not want mine and I know it is your favorite."

He glanced uneasily over at the untouched bowl he already had and quibbled with himself over whether it was an insult to eat Sheppard's jello or to _not _eat his jello. Deciding Teyla's gift was the lesser of two evils to accept and would not leave him feeling anywhere near as guilty, he flashed her a tight smile and took the jello.

After finishing it he dropped the spoon onto the tray. The jello hadn't made him as happy as he'd hoped.

"This is stupid. Enough with waiting to see what the Haitian priests have sacrificed in the name of their voodoo ways," he huffed and stormed off, headed to Carson's inner sanctum.

He didn't look back because he heard the footsteps follow him as he found Carson talking animatedly with a short Asian man. Rodney couldn't tell if he was old enough to hold a doctorate because, frankly, it was hard to judge the man's age with the shaved head and glasses. He didn't recall the doctor's name nor did he care. "Carson, it's been eight hours. That's got to be plenty of time for you to have grown your little bugs. So tell me this is your garden variety flu because, thank goodness, I'm updated on my shots. Of course, I'm guessing that would be too good to be true and we're dealing with some mutant, alien germ warfare cooked up in the evil underground laboratories of a bunch of barely medieval farmers and ostrich herders."

The tiny Asian man folded his arms and Beckett adopted a similar posture. "We don't know anything yet, Rodney. Right now we're still running cultures and waiting on labs."

"How is he doing?" Elizabeth asked, cutting to the chase, eyes cast towards a part of the infirmary she couldn't see.

Rodney usually loved being right, longed to be the one with the final 'told you so', but not today. He clamped his hands together to keep them from fidgeting when Carson frowned.

"We're just trying to keep his temperature from rising and it's an uphill battle. He's gotten several sponge baths that haven't put a dint in anything and he's not yet respondin' to antibiotics we're administering."

Teyla moved forward. "What about immersion in more cold water?"

"That's not ideal, lass. Can be quite a shock to the system and was only a stop gap measure since we had nothing else. No, he's got an odd bug, that's for sure. It's acting much like influenza, but a particularly nasty one. His oxygen levels are dropping fast. There's fluid building in his lungs with pneumonia, I'm afraid." Beckett waved over a nurse to consult a chart and nodded at her wearily.

Elizabeth fixed her group with a calm look, then turned towards Beckett. "All right, so your broad treatment isn't working. How long before you narrow down the pathogen?"

The Asian with no name cleared his throat and Carson made quick work with the introductions. "This is Dr. Daigo Nobu, one of our virologists, and he's been helping me with the colonel's case."

Nobu nodded, speaking with confidence that overshadowed his size. "We've rushed the results and the first round from the blood samples should be ready any time. What we're most concerned with is the colonel's vulnerability to anything we find."

Rodney's brain was going a mile a minute. "That damn retrovirus," he muttered, almost missing Carson's wince.

Ronon's eyes looked down to the floor, Elizabeth's off on some spot of the wall, and Carson simply shook his head. "Aye, his immune system is still very weak. The lad's only now been illness free these last few weeks."

"Which may be the reason he chose to keep quiet about not feeling well," Teyla stated.

"That's what we call _stating the obvious_," Rodney said with a roll of his eyes. Everyone knew that Sheppard was sick of being, well... sick, from seemingly every germ that crossed his path the weeks after his recovery.

"Um, Dr Beckett," one the nurses said quietly as she approached with a clipboard. Her demeanor was skittish and Rodney fought the urge to snap the findings right out of her grasp.

Carson thanked her and read the lab printouts, eyes crinkling, then he flipped the pages back and forth as if confirming something he did not want to.

Rodney was getting antsy; bad news never expired, it just got stale and harder to swallow the longer you waited. "Oh, for crying out loud, just tell us!" he finally barked.

Nobu took the offered labs and Rodney couldn't help but glare at Beckett even though the man looked more downtrodden than before. The anxiety levels around him just skyrocketed and Rodney almost elbowed his way in to sneak a look.

"These results are not conclusive and, in fact, only point us in a direction, but it looks like this may be viral in nature." Carson drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the chart. "In fact, I need to get another sample, take a look at some files to double check, but I'd say our initial research finds a comparison with H5N1."

"Bird flu??? Oh my god, we're all dead," Rodney wailed, feeling his legs grow weak and checking his forehead for sign of fever.

Carson sighed, and turned to Elizabeth. "I need to quarantine all of us here to the infirmary now until I can determine the nature of this. I'm not sure of anything but I can't take any chances."

"Understood," Elizabeth said shortly, hand already riding to her ear radio to make arrangements.

Carson waved over a nurse, gave her instructions, and got an update on the colonel's condition. Rodney leaned in to hear what was being said, balancing precariously on his tiptoes. He almost fell over as he heard the word SARS.

"SARS? Carson, I'm Canadian and I know what SARS does. We had dozens of people die in Toronto alone."

"I told the nurse to adopt SARS prevention procedures, but I'm afraid the colonel's symptoms only mimic those of SARS. It's not the corona virus that causes that particular syndrome, Rodney. Truthfully, I'd almost rather it was, despite the morbidity rate of SARS. At least we'd know what we were dealing with and have a fighting chance."

* * *

"You've infected me, I can feel it," Rodney whined, wiping sweat from his brow. Seeing the moisture on his fingers he waved them in front of the man's face. "See? I'm sweating from some mysterious fever." 

Sheppard's head barely budged on his pillow, only turning and blinking at the demonstration. "S-sorry didn't----". The rest of his words were cut short by more coughing that took too long to control.

The colonel's hands lay limply by his sides, the rest of his torso covered by a cooling blanket that barely battled back the fever that was currently broiling the pilot alive. Nurses came by every ten minutes to check vitals, the various machines, and the tubes that ran from various places on Sheppard's body.

"Yeah, well, I wanted to avoid that planet- told you it had nothing worth looking into, but no..." He let his words drift off, crossing his legs and arms at the same time. "Were you making out with the housewife when I wasn't looking?"

Sheppard didn't offer a witty comeback, just drifted off for a moment dragging oxygen off of the cannula. Rodney was beginning to worry about the time in between such long, painful breaths and one of the numbers blinking on a machine began to slowly fall.

"You've been breathing since you were born. Can't you get that right now?" he asked with a roll of his eyes, but it lacked the true taste of bitterness as he leaned forward to watch the rise and fall of the colonel's chest, making sure it was moving.

Rodney wrapped his arms around his body, "Starting to get the chills now...soon I'm going to be gasping like an old man just like you," he accused.

Glassy eyes peered up at him, lids closing then snapping back open in an effort to stay awake. Against his better judgment and lacking a pair of latex gloves, Rodney grabbed John's burning hand and squeezed it. "I am so not going to let you live this down. Why don't you...you know... buck up and just kick this virus' ass?"

"What about...the others?" the colonel inquired, sucking in another slow draw of his oxygen.

He bent closer so the ill man didn't have to fight so hard to speak. "Nothing so far. Everyone is stuck here, thanks a lot for that. The Marines you welcomed to the expedition now get a full taste of what they're in for in this galaxy thanks to their commanding officer."

Noting the raised eyebrows, he saved Sheppard from wasting energy. "They're isolated to their quarters since you had contact with them, just to be on the safe side."

"You...shouldn't...be here."

He released Sheppard's hand. "Well, you're right, but if I'm exposed, then I'm exposed. Might as well share in the misery."

"Japeth?" Sheppard wheezed and a raspy shrilling noise now coming from the man's throat made Rodney wince.

"He's going to be fine. Beckett had someone cast up his leg, no compound fracture." As he spoke he worried about how low the O2 readout was, the red lettering flashing _86_.

The colonel's complexion paled to hues whiter than his bed sheet except for the pink in his cheeks. The harsh inhalations sounded painful and Sheppard began to cough uncontrollably, his hands flopping by his side.

"Calm down, you can do this. Breathing is fundamental." Rodney lifted the pilot awkwardly until he was sitting straighter, the frigid blanket falling off while he struggled to support Sheppard. "Carson!" Rodney screamed.

"Ca..n't...br..." Sheppard's chest hitched. "Feels...l-like...el..ephan---"

When the man's eyes rolled into the back of his head and his body went limp, Rodney's own lungs hurt from yelling, several nurses finally arriving to surround the bed. "Where the hell have you guys been? He can't breathe!"

He heard the accent before he saw the man, and Rodney muttered something about the speed of turtles as he continued to support the boneless colonel.

Carson removed the cannula and placed an oxygen mask over Sheppard's nose and mouth. "Hold on, son," the physician coaxed his patient.

Rodney was pushed out of the way though his eyes stay glued to the excitement or lack thereof on the bed. Slowly the dreaded low number began to climb back up and the commotion around the colonel began to die down. He didn't realize how fast he was breathing until the room swayed. Great, he was sick now, too.

Beckett swung his stethoscope around his neck after listening to Sheppard's chest while the nurses fixed the cooling blanket.

"His stats are falling and his fever isn't breaking."

"Then work harder," Rodney seethed, knowing that his outburst was uncalled for.

Beckett glared back at him. "We're doing the best we can, Rodney. We're still not even sure what it is or how he contracted the damn thing."

"What _are_ you sure of, Carson?"

The doctor shook his head. "That the odds are stacked against us."

* * *

Ronon disliked hospitals. He hated standing around even more. He wanted, needed to do something. He was a man of action, always up for a fight. But fighting invisible diseases required restraint and patience. 

He had neither.

Sheppard once tried to explain to him an Earther's theory behind the desires of the human mind. More invisible things that somehow influenced behavior. His CO explained that Ronon represented pure id, a part of the brain that told them all to act on things and think about them later. Impulses, instinct, drive- nothing clouded by analysis or evaluation - just full speed ahead and damn the consequences.

"_You act on pure Id," John had told him. "It's my job to control it, and other times let you run free with it."_

"_What do _you_ use then?"_

"_Around you? The ego."_

_Ronon had laughed. "I thought McKay was all ego."_

_Sheppard smirked. "That's another case entirely."_

"_I don't agree. You're like me- this id controls you more than you want to admit."_

_The colonel looked thoughtful. "Tell you what. You help me learn the balance and I'll try to do the same for you."_

Ronon thought he understood a little about this war that raged in humans between their id and ego, but he wasn't sure which side won out as he headed towards his friend laying still under layers of tubes and wires.

"Hey, Ronon." At least that's what it _sounded_ like, his voice muffled by the plastic of the oxygen mask.

He didn't take a seat, just stood over Sheppard, watching the man whose eyes moved but nothing else. "You still letting this thing win?"

He thought he saw a tiny smile under the mask.

"It's the fourth quarter of the game and you have the ball."

Sheppard's laugh was short-lived, quickly turning into a fit of coughing. By the time the jag was over, he was left panting. "Someone's... been... reading."

Ronon had to lean over the rail and bend down to catch the words. "Been stuck here almost two days. Got nothing better to do."

He was amazed that the colonel was even awake. Beckett and the nurses'd had to place him in some kind of bath several hours ago, much like they did on Mallomara when his temperature had risen to dangerous levels, and his lucidly was scattered at best.

"I think having a man who does nothing but score half points is stupid. Remind me when we play one of these games that I get to tackle a kicker. No one with balls would ever want to play that position."

Ronon wasn't sure what Sheppard had tried to explain from under the mask. It was pointless; field goals were pointless. He wouldn't let the colonel tire himself any further and just grabbed his shoulder to tell him to shut up. Watching a commanding officer suffer was even worse than standing around in another part of the room, and to see a friend be overtaken by disease was something Ronon wasn't able to deal with.

He stood up to leave, following the primal desire to save himself the pain of feeling useless, then paused. The part of his mind that had been more vocal of late, under the influence of his superior, won out, urging him to stay for once. Ronon looked around and found a seat, ignoring his internal struggle.

He looked over at Sheppard. "I'll allow my ego to keep me here, if you let loose this id of yours to fight."

He wasn't sure if it was another laugh or not, but Sheppard coughed so hard and long that the next thing he knew, an alarm was going off.

* * *

Ronon would not bear witness to a sponge bath. Sheppard's coughing fit only lasted long enough to trigger the warning but he had calmed since then. His fever was not going down and that required another cooling down which he would respect by leaving. He headed towards the sound of arguing and entered part of the infirmary where Beckett, McKay and Dr Weir were in conversation with Nobu. Rodney was just launching into another rant. He saw Teyla watching on the sidelines and stood next to her as the three talked loudly, the tiny Asian doctor from the other night having to shout over the people towering over him. 

"Nothing acts like a virus and a bacteria, Carson. Stop trying to bend the rules of real science."

Beckett looked ready to drop from exhaustion, his hair a mess and his eyes bloodshot, and he uncharacteristically snapped back. "We're not dealing with Earth-based life, Rodney. Hell, it's not even like anythin' I've seen in the Pegasus galaxy 'til now. I told you it was the closest comparison I could make!"

Rodney began pacing and gesturing wildly. "First you say it's bird flu. Now you think he's contracted some parrot disease. Are you nuts? You have birds on the brain??"

"Excuse me."

Ronon noted the little doctor guy trying to get in the middle of the bickering duo.

"Excuse me."

"His cytokine levels are unbalanced but not to the degree we'd see in H5N1 on Earth." Then the Scotsman began messing with the papers near a piece of lab equipment.

Ronon turned to Teyla. "How long has this been going on?"

She sighed, pulling a strand of hair away. "Not long. Dr. Beckett thinks he made a breakthrough but Dr. McKay does not agree with it."

"Beckett's the doc right?"

Teyla cleared her throat, "Yes, though as usual Rodney has an opinion."

"Gentlemen!"

Ronon and Teyla both looked over at the little Asian man who had finally lost his temper.

"I use that term loosely," Nobu growled.

Elizabeth chastised Rodney, pulling him away to a corner where they exchanged a few words before she placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He nodded and then the both of them came back forward to listen to the virologist.

"What Dr. Beckett and I theorize is that Colonel Sheppard contracted something closer to psittacosis."

"A parrot disease," Rodney mocked under his breath.

"Something similar to it, aye." Carson rubbed at his eyes. "The earth version is a nasty bugger caused by _Chlamydia psittaci, _and yes, it occurs naturally in parrots primarily, but it's transferable to humans. It too has both a bacterial and a viral component."

Elizabeth held out her hand to hold off any more outbursts from the irritated man next to her. "Okay, so what does that mean?"

_Leave it to Dr. Weir to get to the facts_, Ronon mused.

"We're talking about part virus and part bacteria, which means it's hard to kill- the antibiotics only work on the bacterial component and we need an anti-viral for the other part. It also explains why it was hard to identify. The best determination we've come to is that it probably is avian in nature from the RNA we've extracted and normally isn't that deadly in humans ..."

"If we were talking about true psittacosis," Dr Nobu pointed out.

"Back to bird flu?" Elizabeth asked, confused as the rest of them.

"No, not really," Carson said with a sigh. It's _an_ avian flu, not _our_ avian flu. But the comparison to known avian genomes we have on file show it almost definitely came from an avian-type creature."

"You mean like that giant _nawk_," Teyla pointed, gaining everyone's attention.

"Of course," Rodney exclaimed, pacing in a circle. "That damn bird he wrestled with."

"Are you saying that pet bird was diseased? Did anyone else touch it?" Elizabeth asked of the group.

Ronon shook his head with the rest of them.

"I wonder how he came in contact with the contagion. It doesn't appear to be spread through aerosalization," Nobu muttered.

It was Carson's turn to get lively. "That cut. Bloody hell. He wouldn't even put a band aid on it. And the creature spit on him."

"Colonel Sheppard got infected by a bird illness because of a cut on his finger?" Teyla asked bewilderedly.

"Aye, with his immune system still weak from the retrovirus, it just went wild in his system."

"If only John was forthcoming with his illness," Elizabeth said in dismay.

"I knew he was sick," Ronon announced, all the people in the room turning to stare at him.

Ronon didn't feel guilt most of the time; anger, yes, rage, most definitely. Regret many times, but knowing that Sheppard was sick early on and letting the man walk around to keep his shield so to speak, well he was partially at fault. He would not keep quiet like a coward.

"You knew he was sick and didn't tell anyone?" Rodney got in his face which displayed a large amount of courage that the man was probably unaware he was showing.

"Yeah," he replied. "He didn't want anyone to know."

"And you're just now telling us?" Rodney seethed.

"It wouldn't change things. He'd still be sick."

"Aye, son, but you might have wanted to say something before we went back out to that planet," Carson said, sighing.

"What's done is done. I have to live with that, but I respected my friend's need to feel normal."

What was past was past; what they needed to do now was to provide the man the ammunition he needed to fight back.

"We know what he's fighting. So, let's help him now," Ronon stated and there was agreement all the way around.

* * *

He no longer felt laid out on a frozen tundra. The snows had melted, leaving him in the dry heat of desert. Hot, then cold, back to freaking hot again. John pushed away the sheet that clung to him, sticky with sweat and he pulled apart dry lips, unable to gather enough spit in his mouth. 

"Looks like someone finally decided to awaken."

Only Rodney could sound so cheery at a time like this and he opened both lids, gummy with sleep. He settled for a low moan and accepted the measly ice chips Rodney offered, allowing them to melt in his mouth to rid the grit.

"Thanks," he said hoarsely.

"Yeah, well, you have a long time to think on the reasons why you should let people know when you're ill. You know, in case you're infected again with an alien STD."

He coughed and sputtered, looking at Rodney in disbelief. "W-what?"

"Attracting birds now, Colonel. You _are_ a wonder of the universe."

John groaned, not in the mood for this. In fact, he just wanted a nice fan right now. "Hot."

"That's because your fever broke," Carson said as he came over to the bed.

Rodney just pointed to his head, reminding John of his earlier lecture.

"So…" he began slowly, trying to clear the cobwebs. "What's the verdict?"

"Guilty. On all charges, Colonel," Carson said, trying for sternness, but his face broke into a wide grin.

"Really, Carson, it's not fair to beat up on a man who can't fend for himself. Can't abide a bully," Rodney he continued in a mumble.

"It's one of the few times I can talk to the Colonel knowing he can't get out of it, Rodney," Carson said turning to arch an eyebrow at John. "But he has a point. I'll hold off on the lectures _for now_."

John squirmed uncomfortably in the bed, wishing he'd just kept his eyes and mouth shut.

"So what's wrong with me?"

"What _was_ wrong with you was a nasty bu- pathogen you picked up on Mallomara," Carson said, folding his arms over his chest as he began his mini-lecture. "After Dr. Nobu and I figured out what it was, and where it came from, we took some blood from little Japeth and used his antibodies to engineer a cure. The natives have been livin' with the thing for so long they've developed a natural immunity to it."

"Japeth? How's --"

"He's fine. Already back with his mother. Lovely woman. She sent over some eggs you can try for breakfast when you're ready."

"But the rains--"

"Already passed, Colonel. You've been my guest for six days now."

John's brow crinkled. Six days… almost a week and he had so little recollection of it- nothing to show for it but for an overwhelming exhaustion and a sore spot on his butt from laying in bed for so long.

A sudden motion drew his eye to the side of the bed. Rodney was grinning like the cat that ate the canary, bouncing on his toes with barely hidden glee.

"What's up with him?"

"Och, he's just bein' silly."

"Silly? Carson- as a man of medicine, an alleged _scientist_, and I use the term loosely, you should know what a big deal this is."

"Aye, Rodney, I do. Why don't you go ahead and tell him before you burst, then we need to let the man get some rest."

"Colonel Sheppard, I am pleased to announce that I have submitted your pathogen to the ICSP for naming approval."

John knew he'd been out of it for a week but not a syllable of what Rodney said made any sense. "Rodney, I--"

"I know, I know. I surprised myself. Of course Carson and Nobu will have to get credit, and unfortunately, we can't credit Mallomara since no one can know we're out here but still. I think it… sings."

"Sings? Rodney, what the hell --"

"_Chlamydia sheppardii_, Beckett-Nobu strain. If the ICSP doesn't want to rule on it I can try the ICTVdB. I mean, it's part bacteria and part virus so really either one of them could do it and I'm sure they'd actually be falling all over themselves if they knew where it really came from and--"

"Rodney! I'm sure Colonel Sheppard is secretly pleased but I think it's time we left him alone." Carson grabbed the physicist's arm and began leading him away.

"I'll be back in a minute, Colonel," Carson whispered to him as Rodney continued prattling about how cool it was.

John pushed restlessly at the sheets and tried to remember what it felt like to be cold. His gaze wandered over to an empty chair parked next to the bed. On it sat a football and a piece of paper. He reached over to pluck it from the chair, pulling it in slowly, annoyed at how his hand shook from lifting the weight of a single sheet of paper.

The words were written in firm, dark print. _When you're ready to play again, I'm game._

_I still want to tackle the kicker. _

* * *

_That's all, folks._ This was Kristen and I's first true foray into SGA and we had a blast. Thank you very much, those who took the time to leave a comment. It was especially fun seeing friends from CSI joining us over here. And special thanks to Titan5 - you appear on both our favorites lists and we were both tickled and gratified that you enjoyed it and let us know.

We both have SGA bunnies right now that we are feeding. They're small and can't leave their mommies yet, but we will load 'em up with fat juicy carrots while we each return to CSI for a bit. Kristen is working on a Season Seven based fic and I'm working with kimonkey on a Season Six fic based around A Bullet Runs Through It.

Thanks again for the warm welcome into the new genre. This fandom has the best authors, quite frankly. And I can only hope we made readers half as happy as I am reading the great stuff out there.

Take care, kristen and beth

enjoy the early post! gotta go watch my sister have her baby!!!


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